


Deadly Games

by keeperofstories



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Typical Violence, Glompfest 2020, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Magic Revealed, NO rape, Torture, because Arthur misinterprets Merlin's scars, canon era AU, h/c, possibly just AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23362366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeperofstories/pseuds/keeperofstories
Summary: Merlin, Arthur, and the knights of the Round Table get caught in a trap. The trap wasn't meant for them but they have to suffer through the consequences anyway. Secrets are revealed and relationships are threatened.Based on the wonderful prompt by afreezingnote.
Relationships: Knights of the Round Table-Friendship, Merlin & Gwaine, Merlin & Lancelot, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 88
Kudos: 757
Collections: Merthur Glompfest 2020





	1. Part 1: Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [afreezingnote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afreezingnote/pseuds/afreezingnote) in the [Merthur_Glompfest_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Merthur_Glompfest_2020) collection. 



> I've never written anything with so many characters interacting at the same time, it was quite a challenge. I want to thank afreezingnote for writing such an intriguing prompt, I had a lot of fun writing this story out for them. 
> 
> I'm not sure if this story is simply a canon divergence or a straight up AU, as I basically fast-tracked certain events in the show and slowed down or ignored completely, others. I also altered how some of the events transpired. So, Uther is still king but Arthur has his knights. They're called knights but there is a distinction in prestige and clout at court between the regular knights and the peasant-born knights. Morgana is not evil in this but she's also a character not appearing in this story (sorry), so there will be references to schemes that evil!Morgana was a part of in the show that she is not in this work. I hope this all will make sense.
> 
> I was really inspired by afreezingnote's prompt and here it is in full, I hope they, and y'all, enjoy  
>  **Prompt:**
> 
> A drama in two parts.
> 
> In the first part, Merlin, Arthur, and the knights fall under the influence of an entity that feeds on negative emotions and seeks to inspire those feelings in those it captures. Put through a series of trials (probably at least three), our group of friends has to endure looking into the darkness in each other and within to survive.
> 
> During each round, they have the leeway to guess wrong or lie three times depending on the trial. A fourth lie/incorrect guess will result in one of them being tortured and/or killed. (Or some other dire consequence of the author's choosing, if another will fit better. Like maybe they've walked into this trap as part of a rescue mission and the entity has villagers as hostages to threaten.)
> 
> The trials can be up to the author, but here are a few possible ideas:
> 
> -A deadly version of two truths and a lie.  
> -They're asked questions based on their greatest fears and have to decide as a group whose fear it is.  
> -They're forced to hold an object/drink a potion/whatever that forces them to confess their deepest secrets. The object/potion causes pain proportionate to the deception if they are judged to be withholding the truth.  
> -When they met at the Round Table, each person was drawn to sit by a corresponding virtue/truth about themselves. Instead of virtues, they're given a list a negative attributes and have to decide which one matches which person.
> 
> In the final trial, they're asked to identify the person who is most dangerous/powerful to face a special task alone. If the person the group chooses succeeds, everyone will be released, if not, dire results will ensue.
> 
> It's up to the author at what point in the trials Merlin is forced to reveal his magic, but it becomes necessary before the ordeal is over.
> 
> In part two, our group of friends reaffirm their bonds in the aftermath of what they've gone through. (Some hurt/comfort may be appropriate here?) Merlin and Arthur in particular are drawn closer than they ever have been before. Because I'm a sucker for a happy ending. If this new intimacy leads to sex, it's fine if the author wants to go explicit.
> 
> While this prompt involves dark themes, rape/non-con or other sexual harassment shouldn't be a possible a consequence of the trials. No abuse or violence between Merlin, Arthur, and the knights. No side pairings.

_He’s hiding something. I know it._  


_We can’t trust him. We can’t trust why he’s here._  


_He’s not like us and yet he’s always here. Why is he always with us? What’s his agenda? ___

Merlin steadfastly kept his head down, his gaze trained on the soapy water as it swirled around the pot he was cleaning. Rise and fall, rise and fall, the water swished in time with the movement of Merlin’s hands, almost getting tossed over the rim of the metal vessel before calming again and receding back to the depths of the pot. Rise and fall, swish, advance and recede, it was a tumultuous dance, a hypnotic ebb and flow, though the sound of gently splashing water did nothing to drown out the whispers. Even so, Merlin would not succumb; the pot held loosely in his hands was much more worth his concentration and time than lifting his head to see quickly averted eyes, to catch mistrustful stares just out of the periphery of his eyesight that were gone the instant he fully turned his head, and to try and connect those whispers to any of the surrounding knights. He would not look up. Instead of the faint whispers, he focused on the light scrape of cloth against metal, the swish of roiling water. These sounds that were much more interesting than the hushed whispers of knights that had been plaguing him for three days now, ever since they passed a small village and officially stepped onto Mercian land. Three days of furtive conversations whispered just at the edge of hearing.  
  
_I’ll keep my sword close by my side tonight. He won’t catch me by surprise._

Three days of glancing up to see who had spoken only to have no one truly looking at him but to have the overwhelming sensation of being watched, as if he were someone’s subject in an experiment, who had to be constantly surveilled and monitored.  
  
_Do you see the way he stares? Sometimes I think he’s imagining slitting our throats._

Merlin gave out a little yelp as a heavy, gauntleted hand crashed down on his shoulder, only to turn and see Lancelot’s concerned face.

“Think that pot’s clean enough, mon ami?” Lancelot asked as he took a seat next to Merlin.  
  
_What could they be talking about? Can’t be good, whatever it is._

Merlin watched his hands slow and the water settle in the, admittedly very clean, pot. Lancelot was sitting next to him, staring out at the rest of the men in their camp, yet Merlin still felt the enormous pressure of being the object of someone’s scrutiny, like a bug under a magnifying class, being burnt by the sun.

“This place,” Lancelot started, and while it wasn’t quite the same tone as the persistent whispering that had been following Merlin, it did have a hushed quality to it, as if Lancelot were afraid to use his full voice, as if such loudness was taboo in the rotting, echoing forest they found themselves in, “it’s spooky. You feel it too, right Merlin?” Merlin took in the desiccated branches of the trees when only three days ago they had been in a vibrant, verdant forest. There was something about tha—  
  
_Perhaps we should leave him here. I know I would feel safer and, honestly, no one would miss him._

The forest was eerily quiet with even the boisterous ruckus of Arthur’s knights after a pleasant meal absent as they all kept to themselves, their pallets a little further apart from each other than custom and practicality warranted. And where were the birds? The song-birds or the cry of a crow? Where were the bugs, the chirp of crickets or the—  
  
_The problem is, he’s weak. You can’t count on him to have your back. He has to use coward’s tricks to survive._

The only true sound was the whistling of the wind that only brought snatches of secretive whispers that seemed to belong to no one and yet seemed to come from everyone.

“Yes,” Merlin replied, his own voice coming out soft and quiet, despite his intention to speak normally, “I definitely feel it too.” 

“Do you think it could be ma—” Lancelot began, only to be interrupted by an aggravated shout. The brutal explosiveness of the sound after days of unnatural quiet made Merlin’s ears ring and his whole body jump for the second time that day. 

“You got something to say, Percy, you say it!” Gwaine shouted, advancing on the bigger man, who didn’t look at all cowed by Gwaine’s anger. “You got a problem with me, you take it up with me.” Gwaine was right up in Percival’s space now, “Don’t cry to the others like a big baby.” 

“I’m not the one with the problem here, Gwaine,” Percival replied in his usual, quiet way. By this time, Elyan was coming up by Percival’s side and Leon stood like a silent sentry beside Gwaine, while Arthur stood to the side, watching as three days of building tension finally boiled over and, of course, it was Gwaine that set everything off. 

“I’m sick of your little whispering sessions,” Gwaine said, “I can’t get any peace!” 

_Whispering?_ Merlin thought, halting his own progress abruptly as he and Lancelot joined the standoff, everyone staring at each other accusingly. And Arthur, he just stood back from it all. Saying nothing, doing nothing. _Something’s not right,_ Merlin thought and then, _let’s see how this plays out_ floated through his head. Merlin’s breath caught in his throat as a voice that sounded exactly like his own internal voice, almost even felt like his own, original thought as it surfaced in his head, shoved a notion he was far from feeling into existence. 

Frantic, Merlin stood by as Gwaine and Percival’s argument become more heated, both clenching their fists, as if willing themselves to stillness as they hurled insults at each other, the other knights joining in. Each knight accused the others of hiding important secrets from the group. And all the while, Arthur stood idly by. Merlin took in the trees—and they had been in full leafy abundance not even three days ago, how could he have missed that? —the whispers in an otherwise silent world, the pressure of being watched, and, most disturbingly, Arthur’s impassivity, and none of it made any sense. Unless. 

“We’re under attack.” The words whooshed out of Merlin, a sentence so quiet it had no hope of being heard over the knights’ antagonism and one Merlin hadn’t even realized he had been about to utter until it had already escaped his lips. Once he heard himself say it, however, Merlin knew it was true. He said it again, “We’re under attack,” as he felt the voice that was his but not try to derail his actual thoughts and again, louder, “We’re under attack.” And suddenly, he was shouting it, thrusting himself between the aggrieved knights, “We’re under attack!” 

“Merlin?” Gwaine asked, almost as if he had forgotten Merlin was even there. He even gave his head a slight shake and Merlin guessed he was trying to dislodge a pernicious voice echoing inside his head, urging him to forget Merlin’s words and return to his shouting match with Percival. “What’re you talking about?” 

“We’re under attack,” Merlin repeated as he scanned their small camp for any sign of the all-encompassing presence he felt, searching for whatever creature or sorcerer who could be the source of this discord. But all he saw was blackened wood, bent trees, and empty air and all he heard was the whistling wind. 

“There’s nothing there,” Elyan said as the knights all took a step back from each other, each one surveying their surroundings cautiously. 

“I’m telling you, we’re being attacked,” Merlin insisted, trying to figure out if he could send out a revealing spell covertly enough that no one would notice. 

“Merlin’s right,” Lancelot said, “there’s something about this place. It’s off.” Everyone was looking around uneasily, hands seeking out the handles of swords, only to find empty air. No one could remember removing their scabbards and yet all their swords lay at a distance from their owners, resting along their individual owner’s bed of blankets—where they very decidedly shouldn’t be. 

“Arm yourselves,” Leon commanded and the men, as one, rushed towards their swords only to have their momentum arrested mid-stride and their bodies lifted off the ground. Merlin felt the instant he lost control of his own body. His muscles stiffened so that he was standing perfectly straight, all communication between his mind and body completely severed; he couldn’t command so much as his pinky finger to twitch. Nor could he open his mouth to let out a scream as he felt his body being brought off the ground by a force he could neither see or feel. He was just suspended there, in mid-air, helpless to resist as he was manoeuvred around the campsite along with Leon, Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, and Lancelot—Arthur’s elite team—until they were all floating in a circle facing each other with Arthur standing confidently on the ground in the center of their newly formed circle. 

Arthur turned slowly, a wickedly pleased smirk on his face as he met the eyes of every immobilized man hovering above him. To Merlin, he looked like the cat that had caught the canary and he couldn’t fathom what that made them or what curse had possessed the prince. Arthur ended his rotation facing Elyan and gave a negligent wave of his hand. Though they all hovered above the ground, unable to move, not even to expand their chests for a much-needed gasp of air, they could still move their eyes and Merlin saw Elyan’s eyes widen almost comically, if not for the fear evident within them, as Arthur slowly lowered his hand, rolling something small within it as he did so. Merlin was accustomed to Elyan’s steadfast determination in the face of danger, not his fear, and his gaze snapped back to Arthur. He gave Arthur’s figure careful scrutiny, but he couldn’t distinguish anything that would account for Elyan looking like he was staring down a dragon ready to hurl fire at him. Arthur seemed unaffected by Elyan’s reaction and had moved on to Leon, to the left of Elyan, and who received the same unhurried hand motion, Arthur raising his hand up, fingers spread wide, only to close them tight a moment later. Leon, like Elyan, grew frantic, though Merlin could see that only through Leon’s eyes as they spasmed around the small clearing where they had made their camp. Merlin saw Leon turn white as a sheet and he tried to break whatever bonds held him then. He tried to surge forward to reach Elyan and Leon, tried to cry out to Arthur, to ask him what the bloody hell he thought he was doing, tried to command his body to do the simple function of breathing. He fought and he screamed and he clawed at the magic holding him: all to no avail. His body remained as unresponsive to his commands as before, the muscles screaming, as if straining to obey, his head pounding as his body desperately sought out oxygen, and yet the power that gripped him had not allowed for even a millimetre of a twitch or the barest hint of a whimper. 

Leon’s gaze was held transfixed by the empty space between Merlin and him as Arthur came to stand before Merlin. He took a deep inhale, his eyes closing as delight crossed his face, before once again raising his hand, this time with the palm facing Merlin. Suddenly, Merlin became aware of two slight weights pressing against his temples. Just as quickly as he noticed them, the weights shifted, pulling at his skin, as if they were being peeled off his face and were reluctant to yield to the pressure. Suddenly, with a sharp tug, the weights were gone, flying towards Arthur’s outstretched hand—only it wasn’t Arthur. Panic shot through Merlin, urging him to struggle, to curse, though the impulse proved futile, as, where Arthur had stood not even a second before, now hovered a gigantic black mass that only vaguely held the general shape of a human. Or half a human, Merlin realized as his eyes swept downward, cataloging everything, gathering information to help him find Arthur and defeat this thing. Though he did not recognize this beast, he knew it wasn’t a shadow of a human made real, as the human looking torso ended in an electrical storm, black lightning shooting off and around it. The black within the creature was in constant motion, streaks and wisps of black smoke heading towards the ground it floated above while also jumping up to twirl around the more human-like body, lightning zapping occasionally around it as well. But, as Merlin looked closer, he realized it wasn’t even a body. While the black substance of the creature looked solid, closer inspection revealed it was actually fluid, a roiling storm of black power and jumping, electrical bursts, a constant swirl of visible energy above to match the constant flow of black wisps below. And while it held the semblance of a person, with a head, neck, torso, and arms, it had no face. Nowhere on this creature was there any definition, any shadowing to reveal dips and valleys in its form. There was nowhere to look to reveal what it could be thinking, feeling, and definitely nothing to indicate any weakness. As it slowly moved closer to Merlin, no part of it touching the earth, Merlin could see that it didn’t even wholly hold its shape while in motion, as if that form didn’t actually belong to it. As to crept closer to Merlin, it looked more like a menacing glob of black lightning before returning to its more or less human outline. 

In fact, the only part of the creature that seemed to have any real, solid form were the steel talons that acted as fingers. Merlin could see that they were made of sharp, long and faintly curved blades and caught within them, oddly enough, were two seeds. Shaped like a bean, they both were pink, translucent, and pulsing slightly as they were held up before the creature, as if it were examining them. Those, Merlin determined, must have been the weights he’d felt stuck to his temples, though he had no memory of how they’d gotten there. 

Whatever this thing was moved on to Lancelot, allowing Merlin to truly take in his surroundings. Though it was becoming more difficult to see as black spots started to invade his vision, Merlin saw that the grim, empty forest they had been journeying through for the past three days was gone, vanished just as suddenly as Arthur had; in its place, Merlin found the lush greenery he remembered from their very first day crossing into Mercia. As the thing moved on to Percival, Merlin took in the trampled, torn up grass surrounding them, tracks on top of tracks of booted feet, as if men had been treading the same ground over and over again, but there was no sign of Arthur. Though it strained his eyes, he tried moving them to the extreme edges of his eye sockets and there, at his right side, to Merlin’s relief, hovered Arthur, just as immobile as everyone else. 

Merlin longed to be able to turn his head and take in Arthur fully. He had to settle for an examination out of his periphery, which was becoming increasingly difficult to do the longer he was without air, his sight getting darker and darker by the second. From what he could perceive, Arthur was unharmed, not even a strand of golden hair appearing out of place. _Just like the prat to look perfect while being held captive by a lightning monster._ Merlin suddenly felt very glad that he couldn’t make any sound as the phrase “pretty prat, pretty prat” bounced around his oxygen-deprived brain, bringing with it the overwhelming impulse to giggle. All he managed, however, was to add the agony of a persistent tickle that he was unable to clear from his already screaming throat. 

By this time, the creature had removed the seeds from a very red Gwaine and, though it had no eyes, it appeared to Merlin to be looking down at the two pulsing, pink seeds contained within its claw. Black started to seep over the seeds, though Merlin couldn’t be certain if he was actually seeing that or just passing out. As if from a great distance, he heard a strangely familiar voice say, _**Time to loosen the restraints, I think**_ before nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The creature that has trapped our heroes doesn't actually have vocal cords, so its "speech" _**will look like this**_

A harsh, rasping sound slowly seeped into Merlin’s awareness. It was a desperate, ugly sound made all the worse by the fact that he couldn’t see who was making it. 

“You okay?” Merlin tried to ask but all that escaped was a pitiful wheeze and, for his troubles, an excruciating burn flared within his throat. Merlin gasped with the pain, a mistake, as it caused a fit of coughing that felt like acid burning straight through his throat and into his lungs. 

“Merlin, you idiot, don’t try to talk. Just breathe.” That was Arthur’s voice, slightly hoarse but sounding healthy otherwise. Merlin turned his head towards that voice, slightly surprised he could do so but not really remembering why. Black spots had taken over his vision, obscuring much of what he could see but with each successive blink and gulping breath of air, the spots dissolved a little bit more, bringing a winded looking, but otherwise unharmed, Arthur into sharper focus. 

“Didn’t know…you cared,” Merlin gasped out, ignoring Arthur's command, his voice coming out rough and low, a brutal sting in his throat accompanying the words. 

“Don’t be silly,” Arthur said warmly then quickly added, “Just, the sound of you choking on your tongue is grating. I want to get out of this with my hearing intact.” Merlin still hadn’t quite recovered his breath so all he managed was a quiet wheeze of “Dollophead” but the small upward twitch of Arthur’s lips told Merlin that Arthur had heard him. Their relationship might be strange, filled with things they couldn’t bring themselves to say to each other, but that didn’t mean they didn’t understand one another and didn’t hear what the other one was trying to say. Relief briefly flared within Merlin, pushing back the panic still flooding through him, though only temporarily, as, through his words, Arthur confirmed that he was fine. For now. 

Manservant, secret bodyguard, and friend, all positions that Merlin took seriously now and that afforded him a privileged understanding of the workings of Arthur’s mind. They shared something, they both knew it, a connection that was always between them but made itself known, vibrating down Merlin’s spine as their eyes held across the space that separated them. Though Merlin felt it, he knew he couldn’t make any move to bring it out into the open; he held too many secrets to be able to do that. It used to hurt, when Merlin had to shove those feelings down and pretend they weren’t there, just as he used to resent that Arthur could never see and appreciate him for who he truly was. But now, he accepted the role destiny had given him. Besides, familiarity with the man, Arthur, and not just the persona of the prince, the man who cared about his friends, about what was just and honourable, and who was absurdly obsessed with chicken, Merlin knew this man well-enough to be content to receive his unspoken thanks and show his undemanding love in any way he could. 

“Sire,” Leon’s choked voice brought Merlin’s attention back to the immediate danger and the circle of floating knights. Though his mind had troubles focusing, thought and memory slipping away before he really had a chance to grab onto them, he attempted to survey the scene properly for the first time, taking in the red faces and harsh gasps of Arthur’s knights. Arthur himself seemed less affected than the others, the ground looked like a stampede of griffins had recently charged their way through it, and Merlin couldn’t find any trace of any creature, thing, or sorcerer whose presence would explain their unusual circumstances. He thought he saw in his mind’s eye a flash of dark lightning, an image that brought with it a return of the overwhelming sense panic that begged him to flee, to run, but whatever that thing was appeared to be gone and all Merlin saw were six anxious looking knights hanging oddly in mid-air. 

“Sire,” Leon tried again, “Do you know what’s happening?” Six pairs of eyes turned to Arthur, whose jaw clenched tightly as he met the gaze of each man in turn, his own eyes grim. 

“I know little more than you do, unfortunately. The creature that trapped us here revealed itself to me only a handful of minutes before it did the same to you.” 

As his breath became quieter and smoother with each inhale, the panic driving Merlin’s mind eased and he was able to remember with increasing clarity the events that brought them to this point. 

“Where’s the creature now?” Elyan asked and Merlin found himself reliving the moment when Arthur had disappeared in an instant, vanished without a trace, to be replaced by a fluid creature with a malleable form. And very sharp talons. Merlin snapped his head to the right, reassuring himself that Arthur was there, alive and whole beside him, and that, though they were currently in a very sticky bind, Arthur was still there, with them, where Merlin could protect him. 

“I can’t see it,” said Lancelot and Leon. 

“Maybe it’s taking a nap.” Gwaine joked, a feeble attempt and quite marred by the rasp of breath he had to take in the middle of it. Percival just kept his gaze roving around the clearing. 

“Whatever it is,” Arthur said with authority, “we need to escape before it gets back. Can anyone move?” Merlin commanded his arms to raise and his legs to walk. Nothing. He willed his body to move forward but all he managed to do was thrust his head forward. The other knights, Merlin saw, didn’t fare any better. Uncomfortable grunts of exertion filled the circle as each man tried in vain to regain control of their body but each passing moment brought only the feel of burning muscle longing to be set free, aching to move, but no one managed to even twitch. 

The more Merlin struggled, the more he remembered the pure panic of being completely immobilized. He remembered urging his body to move, his brain and lungs crying out for oxygen. The ache of stymied muscles had mixed with the agony of pressure building within his chest, pressure that demanded a release he could not bring about, no matter how much he tried. Merlin couldn’t breathe, it was happening again, his breath was being frozen within his chest. 

“Merlin, breathe,” Arthur commanded and Merlin forced in a deliberate breath, gaze colliding with Arthur’s, focusing his attention so that he could feel the steady expansion of his chest as air filled his lungs. Arthur’s eyes bore into Merlin, watching carefully as Merlin let out his breath just as deliberately, feeling the contraction of his stomach as he let out all the air before taking a second, just as deliberate, inhale. There was nothing but Arthur’s gaze and the steady in and out of breath until Elyan called, “Gwaine, stop.” Gwaine, the only one amongst them who had not given up, had started cursing and thrashing his head side to side in an effort to get unstuck. At Elyan’s words, however, Gwaine’s head slumped forward as if a string had been cut, his breathing ragged. 

“What do we do?” Lancelot asked and Merlin turned his head to the left to find Lancelot’s eyes trained on him. Magic was clearly at work to hold them all like this, so magic would be needed to free them but he didn’t even know what kind of spell could hold them so completely. He wasn’t even entirely sure when they had been captured; he hadn’t heard any spells or incantations. He couldn’t even begin to guess what kind of spell was being used and so he had no place to start in figuring out how to counteract it. 

_**You might start by wondering,**_ a voice said, a chilling voice as it did not reach Merlin’s ear but instead felt placed inside Merlin’s head. A full body shudder overtook Merlin, though only his head was able to show evidence of it as the voice continued, _**why your commander has fared so much better than you?**_ Merlin gave his head a more deliberate shake and saw the knights, even Percival, copy the motion, as he tried to sort out what he was hearing. Those words sounded like his own voice, slightly deeper and infinitely colder, but he didn’t think he had thought that. He glanced at Arthur, seeing what thoughts arose, but nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Until. 

_**Did he sell you out to get such favourable treatment?**_ It was his own voice but it was pushing out what he thought of as his own thoughts and placing these words in his head instead. 

_**Doesn’t it seem odd, unjust even,**_ the voice continued, replacing Merlin’s attempts at pinpointing where this speaker could be, hoping it wasn’t actually inside his head, with this cold version of himself, _**that you suffer while he does not?**_ _He never does,_ a resentful part of Merlin thought, or did it? That last part had sounded more like Merlin’s own internal voice, like it was a genuine thought of his, but he knew, he knew, he hadn’t thought that. What was happening? 

“Show yourself,” Arthur shouted, “Or are you too much of a coward?” 

_**Tired of this game already?**_ Asked the voice, seeming indifferent to Arthur’s anger, _**But I’ve barely had a taste.**_

“Taste of what?” Lancelot asked, voice steady and gaze sure, exuding his typical calm as he tried to gather information on their current situation. 

_**Paranoia,**_ the voice replied, giving a deep, appreciative sniff, as if savouring a sublime aroma, _**but this one,**_ the voice said, and now it did sound slightly agitated, _**figured out the game too soon.**_ Merlin felt a sharp zap pulse along his back, like a thousand shocks traveling up and down his spine. He knew what had appeared behind him as every eye turned to him, showing him concern and determination in turn. Small sparks crackled along Merlin’s cheek, though they didn’t actually touch him, and he could see a swirling abyss of darkness. It was an unsettling image, to see streaks of miniature lightning jumping centimetres from his face just at the periphery of his vision. 

_**Three days is hardly enough time to even be considered an appetizer, let alone a first course,**_ the voice pouted and it made Merlin’s skin crawl to hear his own voice so manipulated, his own thoughts supplanted by this cruel, cold presence. 

“Get away from him,” Arthur gritted out, his head thrusting forward, his eyes piercing hatred and determination at the creature floating beside Merlin, as if will alone could break the hold on his body and let Arthur barrel in-between Merlin and this being. 

_**Always ordering,**_ the creature tsked, _**are you always this way? Does he treat you all like this? Why must he always order and never ask? Does he respect you at all?**_

“He told you to get away from Merlin,” Gwaine interjected, stopping the being up short in forcing doubt after doubt through their minds. 

_**You really are done with my first game,**_ the being sighed, moving away from Merlin and into the middle of the circle, Arthur’s knights sending wary looks to each other as it did so. 

_**What a pity, as I’m still absolutely starving.**_ Though it had no face, it appeared the being met each man’s eyes in turn before lifting a taloned hand, the metal flashing in the sunlight. 

_**Let’s see,**_ it pondered, the question echoing slightly in Merlin’s head, _**what am I in the mood for?**_

The being made a slight flick motion with one of the talon-like blades and a blood red seed appeared within its claw, pulsing slightly as the being regarded it. 

_**I’ve really been craving pain recently,**_ it said, lifting up the seed and advancing towards Leon, who kept his head lifted proudly, not showing an ounce of foreboding at being approached by such a creature. 

_**But no,**_ it decided, moving back to the center of the circle, _**I don’t think that’s what I want today.**_ Another small flick and the seed was gone, quickly replaced by a muddy brown seed with a pulsing, jagged green stripe running down the middle. _**Jealousy? No,**_ it rejected the option right away, flicking a single talon, the seed vanishing as suddenly as it appeared. _**Hatred…No, I had that last time,**_ and an orange seed was sent away as well. _**Despair, regret, no. Envy?**_ Blue seed, purple seed, spotted, pulsing, dull, they all appeared before being summarily rejected and sent back to wherever they were conjured from. The being gave an aggrieved sigh and said, 

_**If only I hadn’t already sampled your panic! But it really is such a good palate cleanser, so much more appealing than false bravado in the face of capture. ‘You’ll regret this. You’re dead. You’ll be sorry’ blech,**_ the creature mocked, still flipping through its seeds, calling them forth and sending them back again so quickly, they all started to blur. 

_**Panic tastes so much better than that trash,**_ the creature said conversationally, _**A sharp, bright flavour to cut through the rich creaminess of paranoia. But now, I can’t decide! What should my next course be?**_ It paused here, as if expecting one of the knights to offer an answer, _**What game should we play?**_

Seed after seed was considered and rejected, the being finally falling silent but now Merlin felt like his thoughts had extra room to run wild. _How were they going to get out of this?_ Doubt and panic coursed through him and Merlin could no longer be sure if these were his thoughts or the workings of the creature. Merlin sought out Arthur, desperate for the surety that stubborn prat exuded, the confidence that he could escape any situation. He didn’t know it was usually because of Merlin and Merlin needed to see that arrogant non-concern to know that this was just like every other challenge they’ve faced, despite how much more dire it felt at the moment. 

Arthur, like Leon, had his head held high, his eyes blazing, and Merlin thought, _it’s not false bravado, there’s nothing false about it._ Arthur was action and Merlin was power and together, this creature didn’t stand a chance. 

Said creature had slowed down in their process of considering various seeds and was actually keeping a grotesquely pulsing, green seed held up delicately by two talon-like blades. 

_**Now there’s an idea,**_ it said thoughtfully, the first clear thing it had said in over a minute, _**Fear.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see this creature as looking sort of like a combination of Venom and a Dementor. With lightning


	3. Chapter 3

_**A spicy flavor. Bold. I like this idea,**_ it said with relish, _**but who should play first?**_ _I shouldn’t have to go first; it shouldn’t be me._ The voice—the thought? –whispered through Merlin’s mind as the creature made a slow progression from man to man. _Should I volunteer?_ That thought, it seemed to Merlin, did originate from himself but how could he tell? And what would volunteering mean? Was this a trick of the creature’s or would he be sparing his friends pain? He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t trust his thoughts. He _thought_ he could tell when the creature was talking using his voice but sometimes the two seemed so similar as to be identical. How could he come up with a plan if he couldn’t be sure if he truly had thought it up or if it had been placed there by their captor? 

_**We’ll start with you,**_ the words sliced through Merlin’s mind and broke him out of his panic, _**and your deepest fear.**_

His friends’ lives were in danger, Arthur was in danger, and even though they didn’t know it, they had trusted him countless times before to see them safely home, so he would just have to give himself the same level of trust. It was the only thing he could do. 

The creature was stopped in front of Gwaine, who gave a half-laugh and said, “You say that like it’s supposed to be scary. You’re in my head. You know I’m an open book, no deep dark fears here.” 

“Unless the tavern runs out of ale,” Elyan snorted out, causing Arthur and his knights to chuckle as they all pictured Gwaine’s comically forlorn face at the prospect of a night of drinking without the drink. Gwaine himself gave a dramatic shudder, which looked even funnier when he could only move his head, and gasped out in horror, “I stand corrected.” 

They were getting their equilibrium back, recognizing the strength of their camaraderie, the skill of the men around them, and confident in the certainty that, at some point, things would go their way. 

_**We shall see,**_ the creature said ominously, though it didn’t seem terribly concerned. 

_**And I merely speak into your mind,**_ it explained reasonably, as if it weren’t currently threatening them with torture, _**I cannot see into it. That is why I have this.**_ With that, the creature lifted up the claw that held the seed and released it, which caused the sickly green seed to jump away from it and hurl itself at Gwaine. It thumped oddly loudly for so small a thing, only the size of a coin, as it connected with Gwaine’s chest, right over his heart. At the contact, shoots started to grow out from the seed, twisting and twining, extending out from every side, pulsing even brighter than the seed they emerged from until suddenly, they all plunged towards Gwaine in unison, slicing through metal and cloth like it wasn’t even there and embedding themselves within their victim’s skin. Gwaine gave out a low, pained moan as shouts of “Gwaine” reverberated around their small circle. Before their very eyes, the green of the seed began to pale, draining away with each pulse and when the green had completely dissipated, Gwaine turned as ashen as the seed that had spewed venom into his heart. 

Gwaine didn’t make a sound as his eyes became glazed, unfocused and staring straight ahead as a sweat started to break out on his forehead. The creature moved until what looked like a human head was even with Gwaine’s, the swirling lightning becoming more animated, leaping further out from the confines of the human silhouette the creature had been holding. It looked like the lightning was seeking out Gwaine, arching towards him in eagerness, though it never touched him. 

Fear, clear and stark, twisted Gwaine’s face and the creature gave up its semi-human form entirely to wrap itself around Gwaine’s chest and torso. _I need to do something,_ cried through Merlin’s head and he frantically tried to think of a spell, any spell, discovery be damned, that would get that thing away from Gwaine. Before anything could come to mind, however, the creature moved away from its meal, revealing only holes and a slight indent in Gwaine’s armour where the seed had attached itself. 

_**Delightful,**_ said the creature with an appreciative sigh, _**I wonder, what did you see?**_ Gwaine raised his head from where it had slumped forward on his chest and visibly rallied himself, “It’s as Elyan said,” Gwaine croaked, his voice strained and hoarse like he’d been screaming for hours, “I kept looking for some fun but everywhere I went, some prick without a face kept freezing me in place. And there didn’t seem to be a decent cup of ale anywhere,” Gwaine added, almost as an afterthought, giving out a weak laugh. The other knights followed suit, their uneasy laughter filling the clearing as Gwaine looked more spooked than any of them had ever seen him before; even when faced against the toughest odds he always had a saucy grin about him that was worryingly absent from him now. 

_**Excellent,**_ the creature practically purred, ceasing all attempts at mirth from the men, concerned faces taking in a pale Gwaine and the creature in front of him, _**a lie.**_ The air around the creature zapped and flashed as it said the last part, an echo of a sinister laugh reverberating in Merlin’s head. Once again Merlin cursed how thoroughly stuck he was, as all he could do was watch helplessly as one of the creature’s talons came up to Gwaine’s temple and entered it. Furnately, no blood burst forth from the contact, and Merlin let out a relieved breath. Instead, the talon seemed to simply pass through Gwaine, like a ghost. Merlin’s relief was short-lived, however, as Gwaine’s features twisted once more, this time in pain, his head thrashing as he tried to escape the single touch of their captor. A scream tried to let loose from Gwaine’s lips that he obviously wanted to hold in check, not wanting to give this being the satisfaction of hearing his pain, but he kept failing and then catching himself, so that he gave a series of half cries. 

Arthur’s men were not silent in their distress, shouting out commands of “stop it!” and “he’s had enough!” but the creature ignored them, creeping ever closer to a struggling Gwaine and sucking in his pain. 

“Get away from him!” That loud bark was Percival, floating next to Gwaine and trying to crane his neck to the side in an attempt to refocus the creature’s attention onto him. 

“You’re a monster,” said Elyan, his voice deep and dark, promising retribution as another whimper escaped Gwaine’s control. 

“That’s enough!” Arthur commanded the creature, “these are my men, their actions are mine, so if you are going to punish anyone, it is going to be me. Do you hear me?!” Arthur shouted when the creature remained fixated on a Gwaine who appeared barely conscious. 

_He says that but he doesn’t mean it. What? It’s easy to say the words when he knows he’ll never have to follow through. No!_ Merlin’s mind was in a turmoil. What had he just been thinking? 

“You can’t ignore me,” Arthur said, _commanded, always commanding. He never asks, he just expects us to obey. Like we’re nothing to him._ Was that true? 

The creature pulled its talon out a little and Merlin turned to see Arthur’s jaw clench, his face growing rigid as he prepared himself for the pain to come, _because he does care. He does care,_ Merlin thought with deliberate conviction, trying to distinguish his true thoughts from the false ones still coming from the creature, despite the end to that so-called game. _Why is it doing this? It said the game was fear, but this isn’t fear._ Merlin couldn’t follow that train of thought, though, because, instead of turning to Arthur, the creature pushed its talon even further into Gwaine’s temple, forcing out an anguished shriek that Gwaine had no chance of curtailing. 

_A spell, a spell, I need to think of a spell!_ Merlin thought in anguish as Arthur shouted, “It’s my turn! You wanted to play, let’s play. Say something!” Arthur roared as Merlin was once again assailed with thoughts. _He’s so full of shit. He never risks himself. I follow him, trust him, risk my life for him but he never does the same. That’s not true! It’s not. And he never appreciates my efforts._ Merlin gasped out softly at that thought. It had to be one of the creature’s plants but looking at a furious Arthur, he had his first inkling of doubt. 

_**No, commanderling, you won’t be playing this round. This sort of game is not for leaders,**_ the creature finally acknowledged Arthur’s shouts, _**You’re too important for such a simple game,**_ it added. _He likes the attention. He puts all of us in danger so he can look like the brave hero. It’s all about him, he doesn’t care what happens to us._

“Stop it!” Merlin couldn’t take the barrage of echoing thoughts any longer, shouting even louder, “Stop it, stop it, stopit! Stop making us doubt him!” A rumble of agreement ran through the knights, Leon and Lancelot going so far as to give their heads vigourous shakes, as if they could toss the thoughts out with a sharp hair flip. 

Percival gave a nod of his head as he said quietly, “You’re wrong. That’s not our Prince Arthur.” Elyan spoke up, his voice filled with conviction, “He’s a great leader,” and Leon, with the darkest glare Merlin had ever seen on his face, snarled, “We won’t turn on him.” 

As one by one, Arthur’s knights rejected whatever vicious thoughts the creature had been injecting them with, their voices gained in confidence and Merlin would almost describe Arthur looking humble. Almost. 

“They’re all worthy men,” Arthur praised, the vehemence in his voice making Merlin wonder just what Arthur had been hearing during all of this, “and if you let us go now, your death will be quick. But, if you hurt any more of them, I will not be as merciful.” Before Merlin could remind Arthur that he couldn’t get out of these kinds of situations by offering to kill someone nicely—honestly, they had talked about this! –the creature finally removed its talon from Gwaine, who didn’t even appear conscious. _Was he breathing?_ No sooner had the thought formed than Gwaine, with difficulty, lifted his head and gasped out, “Love you…too, Princess.” _It’s possible,_ Merlin thought, _that that’s the first time Arthur smiled at being called “Princess.”_ Relief surged through Merlin at seeing that glimmer of Gwaine’s usual irreverent self peak through, his fire undimmed by the pain evident in his voice. Looking around at the other knights, it was clear to Merlin he wasn’t the only one buoyed by Gwaine’s small return to form. 

_**Loyalty,**_ the creature spat, floating away from the suspended knights, _**it leaves a bad aftertaste and your pain and doubt was so utterly delicious,**_ it lamented. _**On the other hand, your emotional agony on top of your fellow’s physical pain proved a scrumptious combination. One that might be worth the aftertaste.**_ The creature gave an audible breath of delight, though Merlin didn’t think it even really had lungs, before saying, _**I do so hope more of you lie.**_

“You’re sick,” Gwaine gritted out. 

_**I’m hungry,**_ the creature rejoined, _**and since you seem to have sufficiently recovered your voice, it’s time to tell us what you saw. Reveal that deepest fear that you so clearly want to hide from your fellows. And I recommend you don’t lie this time,**_ the creature added just as Gwaine drew in a breath to speak, _**as delightful as a second taste would be, you humans are so variable,**_ the creature explained, once again raising its talon and moving closer to a visibly tensing Gwaine, his eyes tracking the path of shining steel as it edged ever closer to his temple, _**I can never accurately predict how many times I can touch one of you creatures before you die from the contact.**_ The talon stopped, hovering millimetres from Gwaine, who swallowed and rasped out, “I saw myself wearing my father’s ducal coronet.” Gwaine swallowed again, shooting his eyes down towards the ground as the other knights and Arthur took that in. Arthur and Leon looked confused, Lancelot tried to meet Gwaine’s eyes so he could see his sympathetic look, while Elyan had a slight frown on his face and Percival just looked sad. Merlin didn’t know what was showing on his face but it wasn’t like anyone was paying any attention to him anyway. 

“I’m sitting next to him in his great hall as he listens to petitioners. They’re starving, begging him for food and he denies them. They’re dying, their villages attacked by bandits and he won’t spare the men to protect them. He orders boys taken from their mothers to build his army, he plots to overthrow Caerleon, his own king whom he swore fealty to. He does monstrous and unjust acts, one after the next, and I just sit there, by his side, doing nothing, until his voice is my voice and I’m the one depriving my people of their dignity,” Gwaine’s voice was choked by the end but they all heard. Merlin remembered when he first met Gwaine, how Gwaine had described his father—this kind, just man that Gwaine hoped he’d been before he died. Merlin’s heart broke that the carefree Gwaine could have been suffering from this uncertainty about who his father was, who _he_ was, and hadn’t been able to confide in any of them. Merlin wanted to reassure Gwaine that he was a worthy man, that he had proven himself good enough to be a part of Arthur’s elite team on the merit of his actions alone, not his name and rank, but the creature was taking charge again. 

_**That’s the truth. Thank you, soldier, I so rarely get to dine on shame, shock, and a dash of heartbreak. They all make for an intriguing combination—the slime of shame mingles with the freshness of shock in a most satisfying way.**_ The creature spoke with such glee and Gwaine had yet to raise his eyes from the ground and, for the first time since this ordeal started, Merlin truly felt hatred burn within his breast for this thing that was making sport of tearing them apart. 

_**You all are proving a most exquisite meal,**_ the creature rejoiced, _**Now, who’s next?**_ The thing wondered, rotating around and considering each man. It stopped in front of Elyan with another ghastly green seed in its claw, which quickly attached itself to Elyan in the same manner it had Gwaine. The creature drifted close as the green hue slowly faded from the seed, drawing its semblance of a head even with Elyan’s face. Elyan stared the creature down even as his lips tightened at whatever nightmare scenario was playing out behind his eyes. As it did with Gwaine, the creature thinned out, became less human in appearance and more like a toxic cloud, wrapping itself around Elyan’s chest as Elyan suddenly squeezed his eyes shut. A small whimper escaped his control, though, revealing that shutting his eyes had not provided surcease to whatever onslaught of images the seed was forcing on him. Now that they knew more what effect the seed had on their friends, Lancelot raised his voice in support and comfort, Merlin and the other knights following suit. When Elyan’s eyes were open once again, Merlin didn’t know if he should lower his gaze to offer Elyan privacy or keep it steady on Elyan so that he could send his support and strength to him. Elyan was such a private person but no one should have to face their fears alone and Merlin struggled on where to cast his eyes until a soft, short “No” punched out of Elyan, heart wrenching in its intensity even with how brief it had been given voice. 

_**That sounds promising,**_ the creature said as it once again took its “human” shape, _**tell us your fear.**_ Elyan glanced at Gwaine, his eyes still held downcast with his confident grin, the one they all were accustomed to seeing even in the direst of circumstances nowhere in sight. Elyan took a deep breath before saying softly, “I saw my mother, my father, my sister, my entire family. Dead. Murdered.” Elyan stopped his succinct though nowhere near emotionless recount as he had to clear his throat to get through the entire thing so as not to have his voice betray the tears that were threatening to spill. 

_**Hmm,**_ the creature said, _**I taste shame. Who murdered them, I wonder? Tell us,**_ it commanded when Elyan proved taciturn and silent. _He did it,_ flashed through Merlin’s mind and he gritted his teeth as the creature once again started its underhanded tactics. Merlin was becoming more conscious of when the creature mimicked the sound of his thoughts and when the thoughts were his own and he was starting to notice a pattern in the types of thoughts the creature sent. _He’s a murderer, he killed his family and he’ll think nothing of killing me in my sleep._

Elyan’s jaw ticked before he grudgingly said, “It was Prince Arthur.” Merlin whipped his head around to see Arthur wince at Elyan’s pronouncement, “I saw Prince Arthur murder my family,” Elyan bit out at the creature before craning his neck to meet Arthur’s eyes and say with conviction, “I know you’re not your father. I know you’re not the one who killed my father. I believe in you; I believe in the future you will make. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” Arthur was quick to nod his head in understanding and reply, “I’ve never doubted you, Elyan, and I have no cause to, this doesn’t change that.” Elyan let out a sigh of relief as the creature drifted over to Leon, drawing Leon’s gaze away from Elyan to focus on the being now floating before him. 

_**Caution,**_ the creature said, _**a wonderfully smoky morsel.**_ All eyes turned to Leon in shock, who, noticing the attention, looked uncomfortable before flashing his eyes towards Elyan and saying, “I’m sorry, Elyan. I’m sworn to protect the Prince from any threat, to be prepared for any eventuality. It’s my duty.” 

“Sir Leon,” Arthur charged, “Sir Elyan is not a threat.” 

“Yes, Sire, I know,” Leon said, giving a brief bow of his head, “it was just a moment of folly. I apologize again, Sir Elyan.” 

The creature had drifted back to let the drama unfold and though it didn’t seem satisfied by the way the confrontation had gone, that didn’t stop it from producing another green seed, this time stopping in front of Percival. For a third time, the creature released the seed and Percival watched stoically as it attached itself to his chest and slowly spewed its poison. Merlin held his breath as he saw another friend’s face turn ashen and eyes widen. Unlike Gwaine and Elyan, Percy let his terrified screams fill the air. The shrieks went on and on and Merlin’s muscles ached from the desire to go and hold Percy in a tight hug. Lancelot, who was next to Percy, started murmuring assurances, reminding Percy to breathe and to let it all out. Gwaine, on Percy’s other side, finally lifted his eyes to meet Percival’s and whisper, “Hang in there, man. We’re here for you,” as the creature wrapped itself around Percival's thick frame. When Percy’s screams choked off, the creature retreated and the seed flew back into its waiting claw. Their tormentor was practically vibrating, the black swirls it was made of were spinning so fast. 

_**What did you see?**_ The creature asked jubilantly and Percival had to take a few deep breaths before answering, “I saw the dead rise around me. Everyone I’ve ever killed surrounded me, stared at me.” Another scream built up within Percival’s throat but he choked it off before it could escape, meeting Gwaine’s eyes as he continued, “They didn’t look angry, they didn’t try to hurt me. They just kept asking ‘Why? Why did you kill me?’ Over and over and I couldn’t answer them, I couldn’t remember why.” 

_**Why did you kill them?**_ The creature asked, bring Percival’s head around to face it once again. 

_**Did you actually want to murder those people or were you ordered to?**_ The thing spun so that Percival could stare at Arthur. 

_**Did he order you to? Would you have killed them it he hadn’t told you to? He brought this upon you, put those lives on your conscience. Why did he do that? For what? What was worth you murdering people for him?**_ _Would we even be here if it weren’t for him?_

“Stop it!” Merlin shouted, six pale faces turning his way as the creature slowly moved away from an almost hyperventilating Percival, drifting closer to Merlin, “Stop trying to get us to turn on each other,” Merlin cried out, the creature almost directly in front of him now. 

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur ordered right before the creature addressed Merlin. 

_**You are a clever one,**_ and it didn’t sound angry at all for being figured out. 

“Why are you doing this?” Merlin asked. 

“Ignore him,” Arthur said, “it’s me you’re after. He’s just a servant.” Merlin frowned at that but it was Arthur who was ignored as the creature replied to Merlin’s question. 

_**Everyone must eat. You can’t fault me for taking pleasure in the meal.**_

“But you’re feeding on fear,” Merlin reminded, “tearing us apart doesn’t give you that.” Merlin paused, staring into black blankness, searching for any sign that could give him a clue to what this creature was feeling, “What do you really want?” The flash of black lightning that sporadically jumped within and about the creature intensified and the pops and zaps became audible once more as that same eerie laughter once again filled Merlin’s head. _****_

_**You’re an interesting one. I wonder,**_ and the creature once again produced an all too familiar green seed. Merlin’s breath hitched but, like Elyan, he kept his gaze focused and steady straight ahead. That didn’t stop him from seeing Arthur’s convulsive swallow out of the periphery of his vision before Arthur compressed his lips, as if commanding himself to stay silent. _**I taste a hint of a great fear within you,**_ the creature continued, twirling the seed between its talons, _**and something else. Something deeper.**_ The creature got up close to Merlin, blocking out the sight of Arthur, promising murder with eyes. What almost passed for a head, though it was longer and more oval than a human head should be, came up to almost press against Merlin’s cheek, as if to sniff Merlin, though Merlin had no idea how it could accomplish that without a nose. 

_**That gives me the greatest idea for our next game,**_ the creature trilled, the seed within its claw vanishing with a flick as if it had never been there in the first place. 

_**Secrets.**_

Merlin was suddenly moving, as were the other knights, as they were all brought in close, forming a tighter circle around the creature that controlled their fate. 

_**No special props for our third game,**_ the creature said delightedly, _**I just require your honesty. Though, obviously, a lie would also be most delicious and appreciated.**_

After this, the creature was silent, as if giving the men time to stare at each other and ponder which of their secrets they would be forced to reveal, what sort of secrets the others might be hiding, and whether they could be worse than what had already been brought to light. 

“We’re going to get through this,” Arthur declared and then the third game started. The creature moved in front of Leon and said, _**I won’t ask what secrets you have, I’ll let your fellows question and wonder what they could be. Let them wonder whether you’re keeping a secret that might betray them at a critical moment, might split your focus when they’re counting on you to have their back, perhaps?**_

“You’re doing it again,” Merlin accused harshly. 

_**Am I?**_ The creature asked innocently, not at all ruffled by Merlin’s interruption, _**oh, dear.**_ More zaps and flashes accompanied by an echo of a laugh inside his head. 

_**What I will ask,**_ the creature said, once again addressing Leon, _**is which one of your fellows you think is most likely to be keeping an important secret.**_

Leon looked confused, as if he had been expecting the creature to say something else, and hesitantly replied, “I think that would be Prince Arthur.” 

_**Really?**_ The creature inquired, _**And why’s that?**_ Leon gave his head a slight shake and answered, “Because he’s royalty and therefore privy to many secrets and matters of state that others are not.” 

_**Hmm,**_ the creature said, clearly dissatisfied and moved on to Elyan without saying anything else. 

_**And who do you suspect is most likely to be keeping a significant secret?**_ Elyan opened his mouth to respond but then hesitated before snapping it shut again. 

_**Intriguing,**_ the creature purred, moving closer to Elyan, _**what name just popped into your head?**_ Elyan shook his head and lightning zapped ecstatically around the two, almost hitting Elyan in its excitement. 

_**Tell me,**_ the creature compelled and a reluctant Elyan, eyeing the lightning zapping so close to him warily, said, “Gwaine.” 

_**And why is that?**_ The creature asked gleefully. Elyan sent an apologetic look at Gwaine as he responded, “Because he never told us about his father’s nobility. He let us think he was common born like us, that he belonged in our specially designated group because he didn’t have the rank to join the regular knights. He lied and it makes me wonder what else he might be hiding.” 

_**That’s the truth,**_ the creature said, _**truth combined with regret. A delicacy. You have to get the proportions just right because truth on its own has quite a foul, overbearing taste. But, if you pepper in some reluctance, a pinch of regret, and maybe even a splash of betrayal, you’ve got a full, rich entrée for your third course.**_ The creature instructed like it was offering them up a secret recipe. 

“I’m sorry, Gwaine,” Elyan said dejectedly. 

“It’s alright,” Gwaine answered, “I understand.” 

Awkward silence descended on the group as the source of their misery turned in a circle in front of them, murmuring, 

_**Who should my last bite be? How shall I finish this meal?**_ Though it had no eyes, it was turning, surveying each man in turn, saying, _**I must thank you, gentlemen, for such a robust and varied meal. With such a spectacular menu, the final note must be sublime.**_ The creature approached Lancelot, who couldn’t stop his eyes from briefly darting towards Merlin. 

_**No,**_ the creature decided, twisting around and heading straight towards Arthur, _**I promised you a chance to play in one of my games and now seems the perfect time. Which of your men, commander,**_ the creature asked as it stopped right in front of a furious Arthur, _**do you doubt? Which one of them do you suspect of withholding a damning secret from you?**_

“No,” Arthur stated, chin high and tone arrogant as only a royal can achieve. 

_**Wonderful,**_ the creature replied, raising a talon up and even with Arthur’s face. Merlin braced himself as that talon neared Arthur’s temple, willing himself to look away so he would not have to hold another memory of Arthur’s golden face twisted in pain within his heart and yet unable to move his eyes away from that proud stare. He saw Arthur glance at him out of the corner of his eye, his lips tightening before heaving a deep breath and saying, “Fine.” His capitulation halted the talon poised above him and the creature waited for Arthur’s response. 

“Lancelot.” Arthur grumbled, “I think Lancelot probably has some deep, dark secret. Happy?” 

The creature didn’t answer Arthur’s question, just probed further with his own, _**And why him?**_ Arthur’s head tipped awkwardly to one side, as if he’d forgotten he couldn’t move anything but his head and had tried to shrug. 

“I don’t really know, there’s nothing specific that makes me think it. I just do.” Arthur’s voice was getting deeper and more aggressive, coming out more as a growl than words the longer the creature floated before him. 

_**A truth,**_ the creature said, disappointment tinging the words as they drifted through Merlin and the knights’ heads, the creature lowering its raised talon. 

“Can’t feed off truth, can you?” Arthur spat, “Well, here’s some more. I’m going to kill you. You’re a sadist and a monster and the world will be a better place without you. We are a team, something a twisted thing like you could never understand, as no one could ever care about you. And if you weren’t such a coward and released me so we could actually fight as equals without your magic tricks, you wouldn’t stand a chance,” Arthur raged and the creature raised itself up, so that it towered above them all as it shouted. 

_**Equals!**_ The creature roared, the voice inside Merlin’s head sounding truly angry for the first time. _**We are not equals,**_ the creature sneered the last word, its voice booming in Merlin’s head, a pounding that corresponded with swirling wisps of black that flashed out and around, obscuring the creature’s attempt at a human guise and making it appear like a large, roiling electrical cloud, _**I am pure energy, a being of immense power and possibility from a dimension of such weight it would flatten you in seconds. I am versatile, strong, and immense. You are a meat suit, so pitiably feeble and breakable, it’s a joke you’re even allowed to exist.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though the creature does get very close to the knights when it is feeding and wrapped around their torsos, it does not, in fact, actually _touch_ them, hence no pain physical pain at that point.


	4. Chapter 4

_**I’m ready for dessert**_ , the creature suddenly declared into the taut silence that followed its outburst. 

_**So, we’ll play one final game and then I’ll let either all of you go or most of you go.**_ Merlin and the knights did not miss the significance of the creature’s emphasis on the word “most” and they watched suspiciously as the creature once again came level with them, pushing them back into a larger circle. 

_**It’s simple enough,**_ the creature explained, _**and commander, it’s one I think you’ll like. All you have to do is decide who amongst you is the most dangerous. If that person survives, you are all free to go. If he doesn’t, well, then the rest of you are free to go knowing you sent your friend to his death.**_ The creature let that settle amongst the men. 

“Survive what?” Elyan asked. 

_**Me,**_ the creature responded without preamble, _**it would be quite a feat. I suggest you choose carefully.**_ Again, the creature let its words sink in before saying, 

_**Who shall it be? Who is the most dangerous of you?**_ All eyes turned to Arthur, who gave a confident, “Me.” Only, the creature didn’t move towards Arthur but Lancelot. 

_**I taste a lie,**_ the creature crowed, hovering in front of Lancelot. _**What is it? Do you think yourself better than your commander?**_ Lancelot remained mute but it appeared the creature hadn’t been looking for an answer anyway. _**No, I taste something deeper here.**_

“There’s nothing deeper,” Arthur yelled as unease turned in Merlin’s gut, “You wanted the strongest, most powerful amongst us and that’s me. Now fight.” 

_**I asked for the most dangerous,**_ the creature corrected, _**and this one is hiding something quite succulent, it’s just a matter of getting to it.**_ With that said, and without any further warning, Lancelot collapsed to the ground, his feet giving out from under him as he was completely unprepared for the contact with the firm ground. Without pausing to let Lancelot get to his feet, the creature was on top of him, sinking all ten talons into Lancelot’s back. Lancelot shrieked in agony and Merlin’s scream of “Lancelot” joined his cries as the creature demanded, _**Give me the name.**_

“No,” Lancelot just managed to gasp out before convulsing in pain. The other knights were shouting their outrage as the creature withdrew its talons from Lancelot’s back only to plunge them into his head. As the silver disappeared into long, flowing locks, Lancelot let out a scream that ripped right through Merlin, leaving him eviscerated. It wasn’t just the pain in Lancelot’s cries that undid Merlin, it was the fear evident within them. Lancelot was everything noble and honest, was Merlin’s dearest friend and the only person in Camelot outside of Gaius who saw his magic as a gift and he was currently being tortured because of that knowledge. 

“It’s me!” Merlin cried out, his voice cracking slightly but still audible, “He was thinking of me, I’m the most dangerous one here.” Arthur gave an incredulous guffaw as the creature finally withdrew its talons from a prone Lancelot. 

“Him? He’s a scrawny weakling, look at him.” 

“Arthur, shut up,” Merlin said, hurt by Arthur’s dismissal of him but focused on more immediate concerns at the moment. 

“I’m sorry, Merlin, you are many things, undoubtedly brave, but you are not dangerous,” Arthur said, realizing he had insulted Merlin, his words landing more painfully than his cracks normally did, but having to focus on the crisis at hand and getting them all out alive, especially Merlin. Arthur wasn’t going to let Merlin’s stupidly attractive heroic streak get him killed. 

“It’s me or no one,” Arthur told the thing before them. 

“That’s not true,” Merlin countered, “There’s me.” 

“You can’t do that, Merlin,” Arthur shouted, “You can’t just contradict what I say like that.” 

“I can and I did,” Merlin declared, not noticing the eyes of the other knights bouncing back and forth between him and Arthur as they argued over which one of them had the smaller brain. 

_**Sexual tension is not my dish,**_ the creature interrupted, _**it tastes too strongly of perfume.**_ That stopped Merlin and Arthur mid-argument, their attention once again on the creature that was currently extending a claw, a plain brown seed spinning in mid-air above it. 

_**Luckily, I have a quick test that will clear up this whole issue.**_ With that said, the seed left the creature and slowly made its way to Merlin. It stopped about half a metre from Merlin before starting a slow journey around the circle of men, stopping briefly in front of each one, Lancelot slumped over a little as he struggled to regain control of his still spasming body. The seed followed the same path, moving faster with each circuit completed, gaining speed as it traveled around and around, becoming a blur as it sped in front of each man until it halted, suspected, in front of Merlin once more. The seed twitched and was still. Twitched again. And again, until it was shuddering. Finally, a single green shoot popped out of the shell, growing taller, then sprouting a leaf. 

_**Disappointing, but I can work with it,**_ the creature sighed. But the seed wasn’t finished. It burst apart as that single shoot surged upwards, roots growing down into thin air, the thin shoot expanding and darkening in color, its smooth, fragile stalk growing rough and thick, more shoots and leaves joining the first, sprouting out and out, twisting, turning, entwining, leaves unfurling. Branches grew proud and tall out of a thick trunk fed by a labyrinth of interlocking roots. Leaves decorated the newly sprung tree with such vivacity, they appeared to sparkle. It was a tree unlike any any of them had ever seen before. It was the size of Merlin’s torso, hovering before him as it damned him with its own vibrancy. 

_**Now that is something to see,**_ the creature almost cackled, it was so excited. _**Your power could almost rival my own.**_ Everyone was looking at Merlin but he only had eyes for one particular blue set which were staring at him under furrowed brows, disbelief and confusion plain to see as the image of Merlin years of lies had constructed for Arthur started to crack, a dangerous (apparently), unknown Merlin seeing the light of day for the first time. 

_**Let’s even the playing field a little,**_ the creature said, _**Make things more…equal.**_ Merlin’s heart jumped into his throat as that could not mean good things for him. 

_**Surely a soldier with your power must have acquired some terrific scars,**_ the creature said before it started to wisp and reform itself, zaps and flashes of black lightning jumping around it. After a few seconds, Merlin’s tree started to shake. The shaking intensified in relation to each zap of lightning and it occurred to Merlin that the creature was talking, or chanting some spell, as the peculiar actions of his tree did seem to correspond with certain _phrases_ of zaps and roils. With one last, definitive zap, Merlin’s tree turned into millions of droplets of water, each a different color to give the illusion that the tree still hovered before him intact, though only for a second. As soon as Merlin processed the change in his tree’s form, the droplets started moving, from top to bottom, the droplets rushed into Merlin’s mouth, nose, ears, and eyes, invading his senses and overwhelming him with a million tiny stings as they touched his skin, slid down his throat, and pounded through his head. But then they were gone and Merlin felt so well, he almost thought he had imagined the whole thing. But then the creature was coiling in front of him and hissed out a single word that made Merlin’s heart stop. 

_**Bleed.**_

He didn’t need to look down to know that every scar, every nick he had sustained over his life, had started to flow as if newly inflicted. Small cuts were first, the sleeve of his upper arm suddenly hot and wet, the side of his trousers adhering to his thigh. 

_**Surely that isn’t it?**_ The creature said and its incredible that a creature without lips could give such a strong impression of pouting. But he was right, because next came the larger scars. Merlin felt the rush of blood run down his neck and into his collar from where the Fomorrah had imbedded itself and lower, gravity took hold of the blood rushing out of the newly opened puncture wound from the Serket. And all Merlin needed to do was look at the blood leave Arthur’s face, his gaze fixed on a place a few inches south of Merlin’s face, to know that blood was quickly soaking the front of his shirt from where Nimueh’s spell had struck him so long ago. There was a murmur going around the circle but Merlin only had ears and eyes for Arthur as he finally saw Merlin for everything that he was, with scars earned equal to Arthur’s own. 

He had been so intent on Arthur he didn’t even realize he had been gently released to the ground along with everyone else until he gave a little wobble as his legs were suddenly called upon to once again hold him up. He was starting to notice the uncomfortable sting of a dozen or so nicks and cuts all opened at once, a pain that was steadily mounting, when the creature was once again filling his field of vision. 

_**Let’s see how long you last,**_ it said contemplatively before charging straight for Merlin, entering Merlin with its entire being so that it completely disappeared. 

Arthur was stuck in a living nightmare that he desperately wanted to wake up from. Merlin, _his_ Merlin, the one he could count on to call him “Arthur”, “prat”, and all manner of irreverent names, the one who prattled idiocy that somehow turned to wisdom, who served Arthur complainingly and yet always stood by his side, a constant in Arthur’s life, one he could always count on and be unguarded with, the Merlin who he shared his doubts, hopes, and heartbreak with, was vanishing. In his place stood a Merlin with countless scars Arthur knew nothing about, stories Merlin had not shared with him. Merlin had woven so irrevocably into the fabric of Arthur’s life; Arthur had taken for granted that he had done the same for Merlin and yet Merlin had some sort of _power_ Arthur hadn’t known about. Arthur hadn’t but _Lancelot_ had? What the fuck was that? Merlin and him shared something. As a prince over a servant, Arthur could never act upon it, but he thought Merlin had been aware of it too. He wasn’t that much of an idiot. So, what was this confiding in Lancelot over Arthur? Arthur shared everything with Merlin and, until now, he had thought Merlin did the same with him. Who was this Merlin covered in blood and where did _his_ Merlin go? 

Then time stood still as the thing that had been tormenting them for days flew straight at Merlin, into Merlin, disappearing without a trace. For a second, Merlin was silent and still. Then, a brutal scream gutted out of him like he was slowly being ripped open with a dull blade. The scream was never ending, made all the more unnerving by how absolutely still Merlin stood, as if he were once again frozen by their captor. But slowly, painfully, Merlin raised his arms, the scream still ripping out of him, his eyes completely blank, but his hands coming up on either side of his temple, fingers spread wide. 

First, his fingers started to shake, then his arms, yet he kept them in place. A familiar stubbornness started to overcome the grimace of pain that had been Merlin’s permanent expression for at least a few minutes but he continued to shake. Soon, Merlin’s entire being was vibrating, causing a surreally funny undulation to his agonized scream. Arthur didn’t know how much more he could take when the creature suddenly shot out of Merlin and hurtled towards the ground—the first time Arthur had seen it actually make contact with solid earth. It appeared smaller in size and the swirling and roiling that had been so constant and effortless now seemed sporadic and stilted, the flashes of black lightning more like stuttering bursts than powerful cracks. 

Merlin stood above it and raised his hands high above his head, eyes flashing gold for all to see. A clear orb of pure light appeared between his hands, the sight of which snagged at Arthur’s memory before the thought was pushed out by the sight of two golden dragons, long and sleek, with fierce talons and wings of fire, emerging from the orb. Strange words erupted from Merlin as bright streams of light shot out from the spaces where the dragons had crawled out, creating streaks of blazing light that zeroed in on the stuttering creature, fragments of words, either being screeched into Arthur’s head or so faint Arthur couldn’t even make out what was being said, as the creature lost control. _Magic,_ Arthur thought as the Merlin he thought he knew died at the hands of a sorcerer right before his very eyes. 

The creature shrank from the light spilling from the orb but was unable to escape the bites and tears of Merlin’s two dragons which were made just as ephemerally as the creature itself, all three unaware of the grass that slid right through them as they fought low to the ground. The dragons worked in sync with each other, ripping and rending, the fire of their wings roaring as they flapped, giving the dragons the versatility to twist and writhe as they made it their mission to tear the creature apart, the streaks of light coming from Merlin’s orb highlighting them in brilliant gold and making them shimmer. The creature, though clearly weakened, fought just as viciously, sending mighty cracks of lightning through the dragons, making its own rips and tears into the dragons’ hides with its steel claws. Blood dripped from none of the creatures. Instead, what looked like liquid light dripped from the dragons’ wounds while the creature of darkness and lightning seemed to lose control of pieces torn by the dragons’ claws, shreds of itself hanging impotently around the battleground. The noise was a cacophony of brutality and rage and all the while Merlin stood as a silent sentry, orb floating above him between his raised hands. It was a frighteningly powerful display of magic and Arthur couldn’t fathom that all of that was coming from _Merlin._

A new cry made itself heard above the melee, one that almost sounded like a child. Orb and dragon disappeared and a single word, _**Emrys,**_ echoed inside Arthur and his knights’ head as Merlin collapsed onto the ground. 


	5. Part 2: Chapter 5

Merlin had no concept of how long he had been lying there, on his side, eyes open but seeing nothing, processing nothing but the excruciating pain that felt like clamps had seized onto every nerve in his body when a soft, hesitant voice trickled into his consciousness, “Emrys?” 

Merlin tried to focus his eyes, to push up and out of the tidal wave of pain and break through to the surface long enough to get reoriented but the pain kept pulling him back under. 

“Emrys?” That voice again, scared, and small, like a child’s. How long had it been since the last time it had called? Was it in his head or was someone actually calling to him? Was it someone calling him to the land of the living or the dead? The amount of pain he was in, he certainly could be dying. 

“Emrys?” He couldn’t tell if the voice belonged to a boy or a girl, but it held such panic in that one word, Merlin longed to go to them, comfort them, and tell them everything would be alright. Something nagged Merlin about that though. Hadn’t something happened? Something that meant everything would _not_ be alright? 

“Emrys” they called again and, oh right, he’d died. That’s what happened. 

Except, was he dead? Merlin wondered as his eyes finally started to take in the shapes before him. Shapes that looked awfully like trees. Wasn’t there supposed to be a lake? Well, some details were obviously wrong but he was sure someone would sort that out; it was the afterlife, after all. They didn’t need him butting his nose in and correcting them on how it was supposed to be, he could just enjoy the blessed agony of death. Wait. 

“Emrys, please.” That child again and this time the shapes were definitely trees and this time they even had color. The waves of pain still crested and surged around him but he was able to tread above it for longer before being swept under again. Pain meant he was very much alive and the call of “Emrys” meant there was a druid, a child, who needed his help. 

“Emrys, please don’t be dead.” Or maybe he was the one who needed help? Why was everything so fuzzy? It would make sense that he was the one who needed help, though, because he was so cold. In fact, the chill enveloping him seemed to be freezing the waves of pain, transforming them to sparkling crystal statues, majestic crests frozen in mid-break. Had he ever seen the ocean? Must have. He was clearly seeing it now, frozen amongst the trees. 

“Emrys, I just wanted to protect my village, I never meant for this to happen.” The child, the voice, there was something, something he had to remember. 

“Bandits kept attacking and the king? He wouldn’t do anything. Sometimes, it was his own men that raided our farms. And I have this power, this ability, what was I supposed to do?” So cold, waves, ice, a child…Arthur. Where was Arthur in all this? Probably hiding, he always gets Merlin into trouble. 

“Those men, we never killed any of them, they always attacked each other. Or disbanded. That was the brilliance of it, no one could ever blame us because they always did everything to each other before they could even reach our village.” 

Arthur had protected Merlin’s village. Any other royal would, and had, dismiss the peril to so negligible a village without thought and forgotten it just as quickly, despite the lives lost by their decision. But Arthur had cared. Arthur had listened. 

“I’m sorry, Emrys,” the child whimpered, a loud sniffle betraying their tears. “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Nothing was making sense. They weren’t in Ealdor, so much had happened since then, the memories slowly trickling in, of Merlin seeing what kind of king Arthur could be in Ealdor, a king worth serving, and then seeing what kind of _man_ Arthur was, under the royal trappings, privilege, and his father’s expectations, a man worth loving. Merlin couldn’t help but fall. Arthur always accused him of being clumsy, so, of course he went and tripped his way into falling in love with a caring, honourable, arrogant prat who thought way too highly of himself while also taking on the burden of thinking about everyone else. This always led to stupidity and adventure, Arthur charging ahead and Merlin using his magic in secret. Because, while Arthur was full of life, Merlin was full of lies. Arthur shared all of himself with Merlin, trusted Merlin, and Merlin could never do the same back. Lie after lie after lie, constructing a false image of Merlin, a façade of an imperfect manservant that Arthur thought he knew as well as Merlin knew him, but their camaraderie was built on a foundation of lies. What lie was he going to have to tell Arthur this time?


	6. Chapter 6

Voices once again roused Merlin, breaking through the opaque fog confusing his mind. Merlin was grateful that his mind seemed to be clearer as he could recognize the voice of Lancelot praying beside him and a far distant debate over whether the knights should move their camp. But the clarity of his mind brought into sharper focus the pain wracking his body, the burning of raw nerve endings and strained muscles melting away the previous ice and leaving an inferno in its wake. 

Merlin gasped out and heard Lancelot pause before feeling a warm hand press to his forehead. Merlin tried to open his eyes, but the lids wouldn’t cooperate. 

It was the smell of cooking meat that next brought Merlin back to consciousness with a pained groan. The familiar smell of roasting rabbit and burning logs caused a spasm in Merlin’s already aching stomach, the prospect of food bringing acidic bile up to burn the back of his throat. The agony that brought his abused throat brought back the first clear memory of how he gotten in this state of being nothing but one raw nerve-ending. It was the screams, something had happened to make him scream himself bloody, the burn of the bile mixing with the sting of an overused larynx. A hand was once again resting against his head but he couldn’t even try to open his eyes. 

He was trapped. The instant the creature mentioned secrets, Merlin knew there was no escape. Even still, he tried, he tried to think of a solution that didn’t blow his whole world apart, but Lancelot’s screams were recriminations against his cowardice. 

He was trapped. Pain like he had never felt before was ripping his apart. He remembered when Sigan had tried to take over his body, his mind, feeling an alien presence trying to rend space away from him inside his own body. This was nothing like that. This wasn’t about dominance over him, it was about wringing out every excruciating drop of pain possible. Every muscle, from his toe to his head, felt like it was slowly being peeled off the bone, blood turned to scalding hot rivers in his veins, flowing through his entire body and leaving burning devastation in its wake, only to tread the same paths over again, burns on top of burns as his blood coursed through him. And his brain. He thought the force of the blow after blow underneath his skull would cause him to throw up; he almost wished he would because he might be able to expel all this pain with it, but he couldn’t move. 

He was trapped but there was a way out. Merlin had no plan, could not hold two words together in his head, let alone form a conscious thought, but he had magic, he was magic, and somehow, he found the strength to use it. 

Merlin’s eyes snapped open, adrenaline giving him a jolt as he realized what had happened. It was all a blur, quickly fading as the weak sun filtering through the canopy above them and the fog surrounding them pierced through his eyes like daggers. But one thing remained clear: he had used magic. He had used magic in front of Arthur. It was a scenario he had often dreamed about, Arthur learning to accept magic and asking Merlin to show him what he could do, recognizing Merlin for his talent. But this was not a dream, it was a disaster, and Merlin was so dead. Clearly, destiny hated him. He had no idea what he’d done to piss destiny off so thoroughly but it was quite obvious destiny was making him pay anyway. 

His breath became labored, his eyes were open but he couldn’t see as he tried to think what he was going to do. He couldn’t leave Arthur but there was no way Arthur would let him stay! A memory spell was out of the question as it had the unfortunate side effect of driving people insane as they tried to find the thought they had lost. Maybe he could transform himself, something other than the Great Dragoon, like an…owl or a hound. Hysterical laughter threatened to completely overwhelm Merlin at the image of him changing from Arthur’s metaphorical guard dog to a literal one, following Arthur, nipping at his heels and angling for a pat. How pathetic. 

“Emrys?” A voice asked, resonating in his head. That voice, Merlin had the strange feeling he had heard it before. 

“Yes?” He answered back. 

“Thank the Goddess, you’re alive!” The voice breathed and Merlin was feeling unsettled, the presence of another voice in his head reminding him of the attack and not being able to tell which thoughts were his own. At least with this voice, he could readily distinguish it from his own. 

“Thanks for the confirmation,” Merlin sent, “but can we talk normally, please?” Merlin asked, shuddering slightly when the voice, he was starting to suspect it belonged to a child, it had that high quality to it, replied, “I don’t know if I’ll be welcome. Your friends are very angry and suspicious right now.” 

“Where are you?” Merlin asked, thinking if this child was close by, he might be able to drag himself to them. Silence and then, suddenly, his eyes were zooming. He couldn’t tell if they were even in his skull or not as his vision took him past trees, through fog, to stop at the figure of a child, no more than twelve years old, with smooth, round features, hair chopped so short it almost looked spiky, a shirt and vest tucked neatly into a brown skirt. That was definitely too far to crawl. 

“Do you remember anything I said?” The child asked. Merlin heard a vague echo of “we had to protect our village” but he answered “No,” anyway. It still unnerved Merlin to have a voice speak directly in his head but it helped a little that he could see the person who was speaking while it did so. 

“Oh,” they said and Merlin saw them shift awkwardly from foot to foot, rubbing a hand up and down their arm, as if they were cold. “Well, I just, I tried to explain. And apologize! I never meant to hurt you, Emrys!” The child looked so distraught, Merlin could see tears forming in their eyes, but before Merlin could offer any comfort, the creature appeared behind the child. 

“Look out!” Merlin screamed and he saw the child wince at the volume of his voice as it pierced through their mind. 

“That’s what I wanted to explain,” they said as the creature stood along their back, an imposing wraith hovering behind them and placing a clawed hand gently on their shoulder. The child gave no indication of pain and actually smiled up at the creature, as if receiving comfort from the touch. If Merlin didn’t know better, he would even say that the way the creature enfolded the child within a protective embrace was almost parental. 

“I can open portals,” the child explained, “to other places, other worlds. Ts’oring and I found each other and it just seemed perfect. Bandits and knights kept raiding my village and hurting my people. I wanted to save them and Ts’oring could do that without actually killing anyone. Please say you understand, Emrys. I was only trying to protect my people!” Merlin stared at the anxious child who had taken the responsibility of their whole village onto their shoulders. Who, despite feeling guilty over the pain they had inflicted on him, still held themselves proudly, their stance wide, as if ready to stare down the entire world with the creature, Ts’oring, a silent sentry at their back with a single clawed hand resting protectively on their shoulder. 

He didn’t like it but he couldn’t reprimand them for using magic to protect their loved ones either. Not without feeling like a complete hypocrite. 

“I understand,” Merlin murmured reluctantly, “but next time, maybe make sure that your village is actually in danger before unleashing the mon—Ts’oring.” It was becoming more of a strain to keep the conversation going, fatigue already settling into Merlin’s bones even though, technically, he hadn’t even moved. 

“I really am so sorry,” the child said and then they gestured towards something at their feet that Merlin couldn’t really see, “I brought some things to help but everyone is still so on edge.” Merlin bit his tongue to stop himself from saying, “that’s what happens when you’re wrongfully attacked,” forgetting that this was a mental conversation and some of it might’ve gotten through when he saw the child choke back a sob. Shit, he hadn’t wanted to make them feel any guiltier than they already did. 

“Let me warn the others you’re coming and it shouldn’t be a problem,” Merlin said tiredly, before adding, “Although, I don’t think your friend will be very welcome.” 

Merlin felt his fatigue double as the conversation was clearly coming to a close, his body anticipating being able to let go and just not have to think anymore. But he was still present enough to see them nod before his eyes were drooping shut. When he could bring himself to open them again, his vision was back to normal, only seeing the trees directly in front of him.


	7. Chapter 7

When Arthur saw Merlin fall, the orb above his heard blinking out of existence, and his body crumbling to the ground, a vindictively burning part of him had thought, _good, let him die._ Lancelot had run straight to Merlin and, after a second, so had Gwaine. But Arthur had stood immobile, staring at the man who looked like Merlin but wasn’t. A man covered in blood and seeped in sorcery. 

His knights were well-trained and activity was soon bustling around him as Elyan retrieved their swords, Percival got the campfire going, and Leon stood watch, ready for if their former captor decided to show itself again. All the while, Lancelot and Gwaine watched over Merlin, who had yet to stir. Gwaine made an attempt to stop the bleeding, which had slowed after the initial deluge but had not stopped entirely, so that a slow trickle of blood was constantly flowing, new blood mixing in with old, to no avail, while Lancelot cut up a spare blanket to make bandages. 

The knights worked in unnatural silence, no one able to shake the horror of what they had endured and the shock of what had been revealed. And Arthur just stood there, watching fresh blood soak into Merlin’s familiar blue shirt, staining it grotesquely, as if transfixed by the flow of red corrupting the blue but it was the idea that he had absolutely no idea how Merlin had gotten whatever wound was causing all that blood that held Arthur in thrall, standing dumbfound, as if bespelled. And perhaps he was, perhaps Merlin had been making Arthur his plaything this entire time, casting spell after spell to make Arthur look the fool. 

Rage overwhelmed his senses and yet he still couldn’t move, couldn’t go over to where Merlin lay and shake him until he confessed to all his rotten deeds. Or, better, yet, taking his sword and chopping off that traitor’s head! 

How had Arthur been so blind? How had he let himself be tricked? His father had taught him the deceitful nature of magic users, how they could worm their way into your heart, only to viciously stab it. They knew no loyalty or love and yet Arthur had believed, had thought he’d seen…It didn’t matter what he had though he’d seen in shared smiles and teasing laughter, sorcerers were consummate liars. They could fake any number of emotions they did not truly feel. 

To Arthur’s horror, he felt his knees threatening to buckle out from under him. How had this happened? Merlin had been one of his staunchest allies in the fight against magic, how could he be a sorcerer? His brain stuttered on this last word and suddenly, all his anger drained away and he did find himself kneeling on the muddy, torn up ground as one word, one question, took over his mind, though he couldn’t really process it. A sorcerer. How was _Merlin_ a sorcerer? 

They couldn’t get the bleeding to stop. It was a slow, glacial trickle, but constant. No amount of pressure had been able to stem the flow, both Lancelot and Gwaine had tried until their arms were shaking from the strain and still, Merlin’s wounds bled and Merlin had yet to wake. Slowly, Arthur came back to himself, finding himself kneeling in a muddy forest clearing and uncertain how much time had passed. He remembered very little of what transpired since he saw Merlin fall but the echo of _A sorcerer_ still rang through his head, charging through his entire body and urging him to act. But he was frozen. And Merlin was dying. He could see that in the defeated look in Gwaine’s eyes as he joined the knights by the fire. He sat with his back to Merlin, staring into the fire Percival had brought roaring to life, keeping himself apart from the other knights as he rotated an empty cup in his hands before him, his grip spasming sporadically, as if he were about to throw it, only to loosen his hands again and go back to gently, absently, twisting the cup around and around. Arthur could see the reality of Merlin’s fate in the way Lancelot had stopped trying to cover every wound with bandages—and there were so many. How had a simple servant, even if he was a sorcerer, been injured so many times? Quite severely, too, if the amount of blood was anything to go by. Arthur realized he was swallowing convulsively as more and more saliva filled his mouth, threatening to dishonour him as he continued to stare at a shirt that used to be a reassuring faded blue. 

Lancelot was also kneeling, like Arthur, but unlike him, Lancelot had his head lowered and his lips were moving. Arthur was too far away to hear what Lancelot was saying but it was pretty easy to guess. Merlin was going to die. 

Arthur couldn’t focus, couldn’t feel, his world was unraveling and there was no Merlin to say something idiotic or give a goofy smile or let him feel safe and…and loved through a mix of encouragement and insouciance. Merlin was Arthur’s rock. He had known that for a while now but had never wanted to admit it. He had hidden the knowledge behind quips and ridicule, pranks and sometimes anger. It would hurt too much, to bring to light something that could never be and yet now Merlin was gone, a sorcerer who looked just like him lying in his place and Arthur was unmoored. How had this happened? How was Merlin a sorcerer? Again, and again, he came back to that question but there was no answer. 

Lancelot had known. Lancelot. Not Arthur. Lancelot. Had Merlin told him? When had Merlin told him? _Why?_ Merlin had been Arthur’s, hadn’t he? So much had gone unspoken and as Arthur’s knees started protesting the prolonged contact with the ground, Arthur wondered if anything he had experienced during his years with Merlin was real: the smiles, the camaraderie, Merlin’s delightful disregard for Arthur’s rank, their hunting trips where Merlin sabotaged Arthur outrageously and Arthur pretended to be irritated, Merlin’s advice, which Arthur gave more and more credence to as he proved knowledgeable and , dare he say, smart. All of this was tainted now by Merlin’s treachery. And Arthur thought they had shared one more thing, had thought he had felt it in the quiet moments of their daily routine, a charge, a connection, an understanding that went deeper than master and servant, and a loyalty that went beyond that required between a royal and a subject. Merlin stayed when all other servants would go, shared when all other servants knew to stay silent, pushed when even Arthur’s knights deferred, and acted, for all the world, like Arthur were his equal and his friend. He acted like he wanted to be there, by Arthur’s side, sharing in Arthur’s deeds and dreams, but had he only been counting the seconds until he could be with Lancelot? Was Lancelot the one Merlin had the connection with, the one Merlin shared and laughed with? Had they been laughing at Arthur, mocking him for thinking he had with Merlin something that clearly didn’t exist, something Merlin had given to Lancelot instead? 

Arthur’s jaw hardened along with his heart. This was not the issue. Lancelot and Merlin was not the issue. He couldn’t let their obvious relationship distract him from the fact that Merlin was a sorcerer. _That_ was what he was supposed to be focusing on; the cold, brutal truth of Merlin’s magic, not the pain searing through his heart as if a burning lance had been plunged right through it with the thought that, all this time, Arthur had truly been alone in his feelings. 

The knights were reeling, muscle memory alone, built up over countless adventures and raucous campfires, keeping them moving, informing them on what to do. Elyan made sure they were all armed and Leon stood watch but they were all too lost in revelations to truly be able to defend themselves if an attack did come. So, they sat in silence, reliving their terror, their fears, and trying not to feel resentment, trying not to blame those whose secrets had been revealed. Everyone had secrets. Surely, even amongst a tight-knit group such as themselves, secrets were expected? And should be accepted? And what of trust? 

Though they strove not to, each knight remembered so clearly what had happened. Percival in particular would suddenly pale periodically and tighten his hands into mighty fists, but no one could bring themselves to comfort him, too much doubt clouding their minds and turning their muscles to lead. 

And then Gwaine was once again amongst them, bringing with him the reminder of that which none of them could even fathom: Merlin. They all steadfastly ignored the impulse to stare at their leader, which side-long glances revealed still knelt motionless, eyes locked on Merlin. Though they were Prince Arthur’s knights, they all understood that they were there because of Merlin. Uther was king and Prince Arthur would never go against his father by knighting mere peasants, would never even consider the merits of peasants, without Merlin. But magic, the thing that had robbed the Prince of his mother, the boogie man to scare little children, would Arthur disobey his father once more for Merlin or was magic going to be the end of them all? For, if the Prince did decide against Merlin, what were they going to do and could they rely on their fellow knights for support? _And did Merlin deserve their loyalty?_ The question whispered through their minds, though they were loath to acknowledge the doubt. Merlin had magic and though none of them automatically thought him evil because of that, they did have to wonder what his motivations truly were.


	8. Chapter 8

Mer—the sorcerer was getting restless. Arthur could see that from the log he was sitting on, giving him a clear view of his foe. He had to stay firm. “Merlin” was no more, there was only “his foe.” He had to forget quiet evenings, shared laughs, heated looks, and every instance of relying on each other in mortal peril. It was all a lie, a trick to get something from Arthur. It had to be. It didn’t matter that Merlin risked his life for Arthur’s. It didn’t matter that Merlin never treated Arthur like a Prince but a man. And it didn’t matter that Merlin’s antics brought a smile to Arthur’s face and could lighten even his deadliest of moods. It was all a ruse and Arthur would treasure those memories no longer. 

Arthur saw his foe’s eyes open and he ignored the flutter of hope that caused in his stomach. It was short-lived anyway, as further inspection showed that, though the eyes were open, they were unseeing, staring straight ahead uncomprehendingly, as if their owner were already gone and the body just hadn’t caught up yet. 

It didn’t matter that Merli—his foe was dying because Arthur had made his decision and this would’ve been the sorcerer’s fate in any case. 

After what felt like a decade, Arthur finally closed his own eyes, the slide of the lids across his eyes feeling like sandpaper grating against the lens, as he finally forced Merlin out of his sight. His foe. His chest did _not_ ache, his breath did _not_ tighten, and his eyes were most definitely _not_ watering; he could not betray himself like that. A sorcerer was not worth it. Yet his eyes once again opened and still, unerringly, found Merlin’s, his _foe’s_ , prone form still on the ground, eyes open but expression vacant, no sign of life behind them, Lancelot still kneeling above him. But then, something changed. Merlin was moving. His eyes rolled up to the back of his head and Arthur didn’t even realize he was holding his breath as Merlin twitched, his arms jolting, his legs kicking, and suddenly, he was on his back, shuddering, as Lancelot tried to keep Merlin’s arms from causing any damage to himself. 

He didn’t look like some great manipulator as he convulsed on the ground. He looked like someone dying an agonizing death. He looked like Merlin, Merlin in pain. Seeing him lying there, the spasms slowly receding, it reminded Arthur of when Merlin had drunk poison for him. They had still been learning each other then, Merlin was still only this annoying guy who didn’t show Arthur the proper respect, and yet Arthur had felt awed by this servant’s certainty and…bravery, though he would never have admitted a peasant capable of such a thing at the time, in drinking from that goblet. Merlin had almost died then and he was certainly dying now. Then, Arthur had been determined to save the life of a brave, albeit very foolish, idiot and now…Arthur sat, doing nothing but _thinking_ while a man who had challenged him from their very first meeting, lay dying. 

Thinking and thinking, round and round, the double sting of Merlin’s magic and his _relationship_ , for what else could it be, with Lancelot and he didn’t want to admit which one stung more. What did he even still have to think about? He had made his decision. Right? Round and round, Merlin, betrayal, Lancelot, magic. Magic. It didn’t make sense. Why did Merlin have to have magic?! 

Arthur moved despairing eyes back to Merlin, the foe, commanding himself to see the enemy Merlin had to, just _had_ to be. But then all the breath in his lungs wheezed out of him in an excruciating whoosh. 

As Arthur had been tormented by his thoughts, Lancelot had turned Merlin over onto his other side, giving Arthur a view of Merlin’s back for the first time. Now, Arthur may not know what kind of weapon could cause the perfectly circular wound on Merlin’s chest, or how Merlin could have survived what looked like a puncture wound to the back of his neck, but he did know there was really only one thing that could cause that much blood to soak the back side of Merlin’s trousers. Saliva was once again filling Arthur’s mouth and this time, he didn’t know if he could hold back the bile as the true horror of what that blood signified overwhelmed all other thought. This couldn’t be happening; it was all too much and Arthur was going to be sick. First, Merlin was a sorcerer, then he was in love with Lancelot, not Arthur, and now, Arthur learned Merlin had been violated in the most violent and intimate way possible. He didn’t want to imagine it, didn’t want the pictures, the possibilities of what had happened, tormenting his brain of what Merlin might have had to endure, the full trauma he had been suffering through and hiding from Arthur. Was that why Merlin had turned to magic? Had he thought it was the only way to protect himself? 

Arthur used to think Merlin was an open book, despite whatever he might have said to the contrary. Arthur felt that he could look at Merlin and know exactly what he was feeling, see exactly what he was thinking—usually because Merlin was also saying exactly what he was thinking—but still. He had thought Merlin was such a terrible liar that he could never truly hide anything from Arthur—nor would he ever want to. So, who was this stranger and would he ever have _his_ Merlin back?


	9. Chapter 9

No one realized Merlin had truly woken up until a rasp, excruciating and quiet but still a deafening boom in the claustrophobic silence that had been suffocating the knights, brought everyone’s attention to the bloody form lying on the ground. 

“Don’t worry,” Merlin said in a voice that resembled crumbling rocks more than it did human speech, “they’re just here to help.” 

“They?” Gwaine asked from his position by the fire, having jumped to his feet at the sound of Merlin’s voice but seeming unable to move any closer to his friend. “Oh, right.” He nodded as a child came toward them, the fog parting with their movement, revealing a twelve or thirteen-year-old figure with a mix of women’s and men’s clothing, tightly cropped hair, and burdened down with two heavy looking baskets. They halted just at the edge of the knights’ camp, hesitating, shifting from foot to foot and looking very uncomfortable. 

“It’s okay, mon chou,” Lancelot said, extending his hand out towards the child, “We will not harm you. You have my word.” The child still seemed uncertain, until they glanced behind Lancelot and blanched, before rushing forward. Lancelot followed their path and turned just as pale, laying a hand upon Merlin and time seemed to still for the knights as they bore their gazes into Merlin. No one dared move as they watched, waited, attention focused on one impossibly still chest, waiting to see it rise, for surely it must rise, surely it would not stay still forever, holding their own breaths as they waited for any sign that Merlin was still breathing. 

Arthur felt the world still as well. Everything within him was held taut, as if keeping him from falling over some treacherous precipice as the whole world, it seemed, narrowed down to one twiggy chest that refused to rise. 

The child reached Merlin just as his body gave a great, shuddering gasp, his chest rising as air finally entered his lungs. Arthur felt light-headed, but he could excuse his response because, clearly, his body had not caught up with his mind that Merlin was no longer theirs to worry about. 

“Help me with his tunic,” the child said as they started taking jars, tubs, and vials, similar to those Arthur had seen Gaius use in his work, with quick, sure brown hands as Lancelot, instead of lifting Merlin’s shirt off his frame, took out a knife and simply cut it away, revealing to them all, the ragged cuts and deep wounds that, though the blood had clearly shown they were there, it had not adequately prepared any of them to the reality of what was now revealed. 

Arthur thought he had understood the nature of Merlin’s injuries but he hadn’t been prepared to see Merlin’s pale skin caked in dried blood, with fresh, wet blood trickling down in rivulets, leaving thin tracks in its wake, making Merlin’s skin look like it had been died a deep red so that brighter red patterns could be shown more clearly, like some sick kind of tattoo. 

Merlin’s skin spoke of pain, endurance, and survival and Arthur found himself wanting to know the stories behind all that red. But no, he had to guard himself against letting Merlin, his foe, back in. He had to protect himself…and his people, naturally. 

Once all the jars and vials were opened and settled to the child’s satisfaction, they started rubbing the medicine into Merlin’s, his _foe’s_ remember!, wounds. Arthur was going to leave them to it, perhaps go over and finally speak to his men, when the child started chanting. 

Arthur was up with sword drawn before he even realized he had moved. Before his mind could catch up with his actions, Lancelot drew his own sword, his stance mirroring Arthur’s across from him. Lancelot held his sword low, pointing to the ground as he surveyed Arthur with a hard stare and Arthur had no doubt he would use it, if pressed. Arthur could not see his other knights, as they had set themselves up much to the side of where Arthur stood off against Lancelot, but he heard the uneasy clank of chain mail. The child themselves was hunched, frozen, hands still resting upon Merlin’s…the sorcerer’s…Merlin’s form. Their eyes, though, were fixed upon Arthur, wide as saucers and they didn’t even appear to be breathing. A child, so terrified of him that they were looking at him like he was the monster. 

“They’re just trying to stop the bleeding,” Lancelot spoke, his voice even and sure as he stood his ground with a naked blade in his hand, squaring off against his Prince and leader. Lancelot, the most loyal and honourable amongst them, stood calmly as he betrayed them for a sorcerer—for two of them. 

Arthur once again studied the child that seemed to know exactly what kind of healing Merlin required, who even _knew_ that Merlin was injured, frightened and trembling as they held themselves awkwardly over Merlin, a fellow sorcerer. He was reminded of a different child, with pale skin, black hair, and eyes boring into him with just as much trepidation, as if _Arthur_ were the boogie man come to take him away. 

This child, this magical child, was trying to save a life, trying to save…Merlin’s life and the reality of the decision Arthur thought had been irrevocably set into stone lay stark before him: if he stopped the child, Merlin would die. A sorcerer, yes, but _Merlin_. He had wished for this outcome, thought of bringing that death about with his own hand, but now that the opportunity presented itself so cleanly—take action by stopping the child and the world was rid of yet another sorcerer—that anger and hatred that had been driving his thoughts felt foreign to him, manufactured, as if the creature that had tormented them still had held some sway and had been creating false thoughts and emotions. Staring at Merlin, seeing the evidence of the torture he had endured, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to genuinely wish him dead. It didn’t feel natural, to think of a world where Merlin no longer existed. 

Slowly, Arthur sheathed his sword, gave a curt nod, and sat back down on his log. He heard Lancelot sheath his own sword after a beat and, almost a minute later, the chanting started up again. Arthur had been averting his eyes, pretending fascination with a blade of grass that lay by his feet, but at the sound of foreign words that brought nothing but pain to him and his people, he had to close his eyes as well. In the span of a few short days he had lost his best friend, had his emotions and thoughts manipulated and trampled on so thoroughly he was still reeling, uncertain of what was him and what was the residual effects of the monster, and now, he sat by idly while a magic user practiced their evil power right in front of him, almost on his command, betraying everything his father stood for and raised Arthur to uphold. How had things gotten so complicated? 

After healing Merlin and wrapping bandages and blankets tight around him, the child picked up the second basket they had arrived with and took a small step towards the knights sitting mutely in a semi-circle, more distance between each man than usual as they each combated the turmoil in their minds. 

Before getting anywhere close to the knights, however, they stopped and glanced back at Lancelot, uncertainty plain on their face. With a look from Lancelot, the child cleared their throat and addressed the knights. 

“I brought something for you, too,” they said as they lifted the basket in their hands a little higher, an intriguing clink emerging from the basket as they did so and the contents within shifted with the motion. When none of the knights seemed to oppose the offer, Elyan even smiling and beckoning them over, they walked over to the somber knights with a little more confidence. Once amongst the knights, they revealed four large bottles, which, judging by Gwaine’s whoop of delight, held some sort of alcohol. They poured each knight a gobletful and Arthur was astounded to see most of his knights taking long draughts of a drink that had been offered to them by a magic user. All of them had fought with him against magic, just as Merlin had, and yet even Leon, after a moment’s hesitation, was drinking willingly from a cup offered to him by the enemy. They didn’t even seem concerned! Was Arthur still a captive? Had he been given that seed that showed you your worst fears? Because Merlin being in love with someone else, and a sorcerer, of course, and his knights showing trust to a magic user sure seemed like a waking nightmare to him. His heart clenched, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar, and he wondered how the world had turned so upside down. 

He continued to sit there, on that log, separated from his men, separated from Merlin and Lancelot—and there goes his heart again, being squeezed in an ever-tightening vise—as his men drank deep and Lancelot stood vigil over Merlin. 

Sound started to return to the group of knights, even laughter, as the child whose name, they learned, was Spark, spoke to them quietly as they kept the knights’ cups full. They asked questions and listened to the stories that followed as the alcohol flowed. And the more the knights drank, the more they shared and laughed. Without even realizing it, they started inching closer to each other in their excitement to impart the punchline to a certain joke or hear the details of a certain anecdote. Slowly, Spark’s presence faded away from their consciousness as they reminisced about adventures they had shared as part of Arthur’s elite team, each trying to one-up the other in describing their acts of bravery before being laughed down by another, since they all had been there and knew what had really transpired. Their raucous laughter returned to them with shared memories; of Gwaine constantly forgetting his sword in the most random parts of the castle; of Percival forgetting that the frame of the door to the barracks was too low and the impressive thunk that always announced his entrance; of Elyan accidentally slipping on a newly polished section of a floor of the castle and sliding nearly across the whole length of the corridor and inventing one of their favorite games in the process. 

Soon, their sides ached, they had been laughing so hard, but still memory after memory spilled from their lips, loosened by drink. Stories of adventures, daring heroics, and moments when they had counted on each other the most. 

It was Elyan, in his usual reserved manner, who changed the tone of the conversation after they were quite deep into their cups and Spark had long since gone back to Merlin and Lancelot. 

“I have a memory of my mother,” he started quietly and the knights instantly grew silent, matching his more somber mood, leaning closer. “A memory or a story. Father told it so many times, I don’t really know anymore.” Elyan paused as a soft smile touched his lips, then he took another deep drink from his cup and continued, “Apparently, when I was small, I hid in my father’s smithy. I’d thought it would be exciting, that I could be this strong giant, like my father. But the forge roared like a dragon, spewed fire and smoke, and I started crying, thinking the monster was going to eat my father. My mother found me then. She took me back to the kitchen and dried my tears, comforted and petted me, and let me take my time to tell her what was wrong. She was always so patient. When I finally calmed down enough, I asked her if the evil fire monster was going to hurt papa and my mother just smiled. She said the fire was a helper, a bringer of light and warmth.” Elyan paused at this part of the story, glancing over at Merlin before returning his gaze to the subdued but interested semi-circle of knights before continuing, “She said that fire represented the balance of the world, something that could bring both darkness and light, it was just a matter of how you used it.” With one last glance to Merlin, Elyan took a deep breath and said, “Then my mother used magic to conjure a little fire figure, just large enough to fit in her palm. It was shaped like a puppy and she had it leap, dance, and play across her palm, capturing my attention and chasing away the scary memories of my father’s smithy. She held that puppy in her hand until my tears were forgotten and I was laughing and clapping along with the playful fire.” That soft smile was once again on Elyan’s lips as he finished, “I never felt safer than when I was with her.” 

Contemplative silence followed Elyan’s words as they all continued to drink, small sips now and then Percival spoke. 

“My mother would take me to church.” His voice was low and wistful as he recounted the memory. “Every week, we would sit together and listen to the priest. She couldn’t read, my mum, but she could recite every sermon she had ever heard. So, after church, we would walk through this one field that had an apple tree at one end of it. She would sit me down and give the whole sermon again, along with other’s she had heard with similar messages, explaining what it all meant. She would always say, ‘We may just be peasants but we are holy because we follow God’s word. Do good, Percy-Boy, and you will always be in His light.’ As I got older, I was always worried about that. I kept asking her how I would know if I was doing good? What if I actually did something bad?” Percival picked at the skin along the edge of his thumb nail for a beat before he finished, “She would always reassure me, ‘God is forgiveness and so long as you never lose Him from your heart, He will never truly forsake you.’” 

The knights were stunned by Percival’s words, never having an inkling before now that Percival worried at all, let alone about the morality of his actions. The silence was longer this time as they all thought about what Percival had revealed, about himself, about his mother, and about what it meant to be good. 

“I never really met my father,” Gwaine broke the silence and tension once again fell upon the group, no amount of inebriation able to dispel the divide that had opened up between the peasant-born knights and the suddenly noble-born Gwaine. “I don’t know what kind of man he truly was, whether he was good or not. I imagine he was. I tell myself he was, but he died and left my mother and me with nothing. Mum, though, she wouldn’t let that stop her. She got a job as a barmaid and taught herself how to run the business. She worked her way up to proprietress, taking control of her own life. And she married again. To a peasant this time. Tom.” A smile unlike any they had ever seen on Gwaine came across his face, lacking his wild joviality and looking almost adoring. “He _is _a good man. I always knew he wasn’t my real father but he never treated me like I wasn’t his son. He and mum raised me to see the value in a person, not a title. And I so wanted to be exactly like Tom, not some unknown, noble father who may or may not have been a worthy man. Tom was, and is, my ideal of a true knight. ‘The joy of life is that you get to live it.’ He’s always saying things like that. He thinks anyone who treats life as the only truly valuable thing in the world should be free to enjoy that life as they please.” Gwaine cast his own glance towards Merlin and finished, “I don’t know of anything truer or more just than that.”__

__The knights were drinking less and speaking more. Their wild exuberance from earlier replaced by a respectful somberness as they revisited their childhoods, their fears, what they thought it meant to be good men and how sometimes, that conflicted with their duties as Prince Arthur’s knights. They drew closer and closer to each other as their conversation became more hushed. Gwaine apologized for hiding the truth of his parentage and making his friends feel like he was condescending to be amongst them. Percival promised to speak with them anytime he became overwhelmed by his doubts. Leon revealed that, ever since the druids saved him, he had wanted to learn more about magic, bringing everyone’s attention briefly back to a sleeping Merlin._ _

__All the while they talked, hashing out the differences between them and drinking to make the whole process more bearable, Arthur sat alone, endless questions swirling inside his head, piling one on top of the other and bringing him no answers to give him solace._ _


	10. Chapter 10

It took three days of Spark tending to Merlin’s wounds, chanting over him and pouring magic over his body, before Merlin was healed enough to travel, though he would still need various salves to be applied to his wounds daily, so that the magic could continue to work upon his body. Lancelot was the one that Spark instructed on the proper sequence of ointments and lotions, as no one else really went near Merlin. Not even Gwaine. Merlin still wasn’t very strong but his wounds were no longer at risk of reopening, so they bid their goodbyes to Spark and started their slow journey home. 

Lancelot held back with Merlin while Arthur tromped on ahead. Arthur had come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t see Merlin dead. And he hadn’t let Merlin be healed just so that he would send him to the chopping block once they returned to Camelot. That just left one option; Merlin would have to leave their group sometime before they arrived, start over somewhere else. It was as simple as that. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to say it, to start Merlin down a path that would split him from Arthur’s own. He felt the stares of his knights, knew they wondered about Merlin’s presence. Arthur wondered about it too. He had so many questions for Merlin but he couldn’t even bring himself to look at Merlin anymore, let alone talk to him. 

So many unanswered questions, so much _thinking_. His head hurt, his heart hurt, rage would spill over him and then he would remember the moment when Merlin first started bleeding and he would feel that panic all over again, thinking he was about to lose Merlin forever. And even though Merlin walked only a few paces behind him, Arthur still felt like he had lost him, only this was worse because he still had a living, breathing Merlin reminding him of the one he had lost. One who leaned on Lancelot, wore a spare tunic of Lancelot’s, and _talked_ to Lancelot. 

Then, bile would rise in his throat, dissolving whatever anger he was feeling, every time he remembered seeing Merlin’s soaked trousers. A few times, he almost did vomit as his ever-churning mind tortured him with scenario after scenario of how Merlin could have been violated in such a way, imagining the helplessness and fear Merlin must have felt and had to hide. From Arthur, at least. Lancelot probably knew all about it. But when he thought of what Merlin would have had to endure, a traitorous little voice would whisper to him that it was understandable that Merlin would turn to magic to prevent that ever happening again. 

On and on his thoughts went, always circling back to the same anger, the same pain, the same despair, and yet he just couldn’t go to Merlin. He couldn’t see him as his enemy, he had tried, but he didn’t know if he could ever talk to Merlin again. 

Thinking, questions, conundrums. Circles and circles of logic that took him nowhere, it all left Arthur very frustrated. His men had been attacked and yet the battle had all been mental, there had been no clash of swords to release this pent-up tension within his body. He was facing a very complex problem and yet all he could do was think about it. Merlin always teased him that going out and killing small animals making him feel better proved Arthur was an idiot. But going out and moving, challenging his reflexes and focusing only on the movement of his body, the delicious strain of his muscles, it felt so much better than sitting and thinking the same thoughts over and over again. Like he was now, caught in a spiral of insidious doubt, earth-shattering uncertainty, and drowning in an ocean of despair that seemed without end. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He was trapped in his own head and he wanted out. 

Picking up his sword, Arthur marched out of the camp his men had set up for the evening, his ferocious scowl daring anyone to follow him. Without any real sense of direction or any idea of what he was looking for, Arthur stomped through the underbrush, trees going by him unseen until a great, thick trunk rose right in front of him. Arthur unsheathed his sword and started hacking. 

Thought was the enemy, thought caused pain and doubt, and thought would not be allowed to exist. There was just muscle and sinew, strong capable hands that never betrayed their grip, a sharp sword that never faltered, a wide stance that supported the core and allowed a full range of twisting movements. There was only his training, the sound of metal connecting with wood, his harsh breathing, and nothing else. This was all he needed, this he could always count on: the sing of muscles being used and the peace of a body at work without thoughts to distract it. 

When Arthur finally returned to the camp, his muscles shaking slightly from his exertion but his mind feeling clearer than it had in days, it was to find all of his knights sitting around Merlin, talking quietly. Merlin’s back was to Arthur but he could see the relaxed line of his body. None of his knights looked angry which sparked Arthur’s own ire. _Was he the only one who had been left in the dark? Was he the only one who took the threat of sorcery seriously?_

At the sight of Arthur’s return, the knights made their retreat, as if it were Arthur’s presence alone that had kept them away in the first place. They didn’t just turn their backs on Merlin and slink away either. Elyan gave a light slap to Merlin’s knee before heading off, Leon gave him a slight nod, and Percival sent Merlin one of his rare, sweet smiles. Gwaine seemed reluctant to go but eventually did leave Merlin’s side to return with the rest of the knights at the fire. Lancelot was the only one to stay, keeping close to Merlin’s side as he had been since Merlin fell, as if it was where he belonged. 

Arthur watched Lancelot with narrowed eyes as he started extracting the jars and vials from the basket Spark had left with them, clearly setting up to treat Merlin’s wounds. Merlin, who lay on his side with his back to Arthur, wearing Lancelot’s shirt like it was nothing, like it was a common occurrence. Merlin, who had slept the previous nights held in the careful and protective arms of his _lover_. Arthur sneered at the word as it bounced around his head. 

Lancelot helped Merlin off with the pale pink shirt and Arthur was moving before he had realized he had made a decision. Arthur knew, just as Spark had done, Lancelot was going to rub different ointments and lotions into Merlin’s exposed skin, running his hands over Merlin’s half-naked form, kneading medicine with calloused hands into Merlin’s sore, yet welcoming body, expelling the tension and ache pain and strain had wrought on Merlin and Arthur couldn’t have it. He couldn’t stand by and watch, after everything else he had had to suffer through. He couldn’t abide witnessing that level of intimacy. 

Lancelot was extending his hand towards a cut on Merlin’s arm when Arthur reached out and grabbed Lancelot’s wrist, halting the motion with a loud smack as skin collided with skin. 

“ _You_ don’t touch him,” Arthur snarled, trying with all his might to crush the wrist grasped tightly in his hand. Lancelot looked like he was actually going to argue and a dark anticipation welled up within Arthur at the prospect of unleashing all his confusing thoughts on a more deserving recipient than a tree. 

But then Lancelot looked passed Arthur and all the fight drained out of him. Arthur glanced behind him himself to see what had so altered Lancelot and froze. For the first time since a seed exploded into a floating tree, Arthur met Merlin’s gaze head on. His breath rushed out of him with a lurch. Merlin still looked the same. He was paler from blood loss, his features pinched in pain, but those were the same blue eyes staring back at Arthur; they hadn’t changed now that his evil was revealed. Arthur gulped as he stared into the same blue eyes that had held Arthur’s own more times than he could count, offering their support and constancy in a thousand different, dangerous, situations. Offering a lie? 

Now, Arthur saw none of that certainty. Now, the message those deep blue eyes conveyed to Arthur was wariness and it wasn’t fair; a sorcerer shouldn’t look so terrified to see him and Merlin shouldn’t look so resigned. 

“I’ll do it,” Arthur growled, shoving Lancelot’s hand away. With one last searching look to Merlin, Lancelot left without saying a single word to Arthur, joining the rest of the knights by the fire. And suddenly, for the first time in days, Arthur was alone with Merlin. 

After days of agonizing over unanswerable questions, now that Arthur was actually here, in front of Merlin, he had no clue what to say. Every thought he tried to hold onto slipped through his head like water through cupped hands; every time he tried to grab on harder to any one thought, the quicker that thought disappeared. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Merlin after that initial shock of blue meeting blue. With no other options making themselves known and moving away from Merlin feeling too much like running away, there was nothing left for Arthur to do except make himself busy by rearranging the jars Lancelot had brought out. It kept his hands busy and delayed the moment when he would have to look up. He had never been a coward, though, and, with a deep breath, Arthur turned and sat in front of a silent Merlin. Once again, Arthur held somber blue eyes and he was struck that they showed none of the mocking derision he had been envisioning he would find in them for the past few days. Just as he had observed before, they still looked like Merlin’s eyes, not the eyes of a sorcerer. 

Determined to be clinical and efficient, Arthur scooped up a bit of the ointment from the jar he had always seen Spark use first; it was a pungent, thick concoction with an amber tone to it that felt warm to the touch. Clinical detachment, however, left Arthur’s head when he saw the state of Merlin’s skin. Arthur had been expecting to see angry, raw wounds covered in rough scabs, possibly even with pus or discolouration to indicate the onset of infection. Instead, Merlin’s skin was mostly smooth, the cuts that had only recently been opened already appearing like newly formed scars. They were red, yes, but the pale light red of new scar tissue, almost pink even, not the deep, painful red of just healing wounds. Arthur ran the hand without the ointment along the cuts on Merlin’s arm, heedless of the shiver that produced in Merlin, and marveled that the cuts he had been picturing in his head were only slightly raised scars now, clean and completely closed up. There was no sign of infection in any of the scars and Merlin had not had to suffer through weeks of itchy scabs as the skin healed and scarred. Merlin winced as Arthur pressed into one of the scars, and that Arthur did notice, realizing that, despite the looks of the scars, Merlin’s skin must still be fairly tender. 

_This is the work of magic,_ Arthur thought and he was surprised by the wonder he felt building within him every time he put his fingers to Merlin’s warm skin—not feverish, not clammy, just a warmth reflecting Merlin’s vitality. Arthur really could not get passed the fact that Merlin had had dozens of wounds, some quite deep, opened up all at once, been attacked and had fallen onto a very muddy surface, and yet he showed no signs at all of a deadly infection. It was incredible. _It’s magic,_ he thought again as he realized just how much of an advantage it would be, to be able to recover from a wound without having to worry about weeks of recovery. 

Merlin had held still and silent as Arthur appraised him and as Arthur snapped out of his daze and started running his hand with the ointment over where his eyes had recently tracked, Arthur stayed just as silent. Remembering his vow to be clinical and efficient, Arthur quickly swiped the ointment haphazardly over the various cuts. Arthur saw Merlin wince more than once as Arthur was a little too forceful against Merlin’s healing skin, but he still said nothing, which was a surprise. Was that another lie? Arthur wondered, his anger returning to him and his hand pausing at a small cluster of punctures by Merlin’s collarbone. Was Merlin’s incessant chattering just an act? Just something to put Arthur off guard? 

Arthur ignored the questions and returned his attention to the pattern of the puncture wounds he had been absently stroking, Merlin’s eyes boring into him though Arthur refused to hold that gaze. Studying the pattern beneath his hand, Arthur realized he actually did know how Merlin had gotten this particular injury; it had been during an ambush. Merlin had been struck with a flail and captured. Arthur remembered turning just in time to see Merlin get hit and fall under the impact. Arthur had been so shocked he had almost forgotten to parry the next attack of the mercenary in front of him. Merlin was always by his side, always at his back, without armour or chain mail, yet he always escaped unscathed. Or, Arthur corrected, once again taking in the map of the trauma Merlin had encountered in his life laid bare on his skin before Arthur, seemingly unscathed. Until that moment in the forest, seeing Merlin take what could very well have been a mortal blow, Arthur had not realized he took it for granted that Merlin had the devil’s own luck and would always come out of their adventures no worse for wear. That moment, in the woods, Arthur recalled as he slowed his slap dash application of the ointment to Merlin’s healing skin and actually started working it into the scars at Merlin’s collarbone, was when he realized what a fool he had been, endangering his headstrong manservant like that. Then, he had seen Merlin dragged away and he had been frantic. Lancelot, Arthur remembered, had been just as concerned. 

“Do you…” Arthur started before he could stop himself. _Love Lancelot,_ was what he had been about to say but that wasn’t the issue here, that wasn’t the question he should be focusing on getting answered. The _feelings_ of a sorcerer could not be his concern. But Merlin was staring up at him, wide-eyed, and, act or not, Arthur just couldn’t bring himself to start the interrogation his father would expect of him. He was already betraying his father by treating a sorcerer instead of killing it. Arthur shivered at the thought. Whatever game Merlin had been playing while acting as Arthur’s manservant, it was clearly paying off because Arthur redirected his curiosity to another topic that had been plaguing him, a different question he desperately wanted an answer to. 

He had already opened his mouth, already spoken when he had been determined not to. There was no point curbing his tongue any longer. So, he ran his index finger along a long, thick scar on Merlin’s right arm. It almost looked like Merlin had been grazed by an arrow, except the scar seemed thicker across than an arrow would achieve. 

“How did you get this?” Arthur asked quietly. He had wanted to sound stern, to convey to Merlin that he wouldn’t tolerate any lying, but his voice cracked, betraying his turmoil, so he settled for giving Merlin a glower instead. Merlin looked confused and Arthur almost found himself snorting and teasing Merlin not to think too hard and strain his pathetically small brain, but stopped himself just in time. That was something from before, a shared joke that he now knew meant more to him than it did to Merlin. Besides, Arthur told himself, Merlin was probably just trying to come up with the perfect lie. 

Finally, Merlin opened his mouth and answered with his own question. 

“Do you remember Sophia and her father? You saved them from robbers.” Arthur closed his eyes as he heard his voice for the first time in what felt like ages. Merlin even still sounded the same; there was no evil cackle or distortion to reveal the sorcerer beneath. 

Arthur found himself surprised by the question and searched through his memory to figure out who Merlin was talking about. He briefly saw blonde hair and a sweet smile in his mind’s eye and replied, “Vaguely.” Merlin gave a nod, as if he expected that answer and continued, “They were actually Sidhe, kind of like fairies,” Merlin explained, “They had been exiled from their home and, in order to return, they had to kill you.” Arthur jolted at that as, whatever he had expected Merlin to say, that most definitely wasn’t it. “But I’m alive,” Arthur said, a little unnecessarily but he was out of his depth here. 

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed, as if there might have been some doubt about that until he did, “That’s because I stopped them,” Merlin revealed and then he grimaced and gestured towards the large gash on his bicep, “But not before Aulfric grazed me with an energy blast from his staff.” Arthur met Merlin’s steady gaze. It had to be a lie. Why would a sorcerer save Arthur’s life? 

Arthur noticed that, in his haste to be done with this business, he had missed a spot, a small section of the scar, a graze from an energy blast, apparently, missing the amber glow of the ointment Arthur had been aimlessly applying to Merlin’s skin. Without really thinking about it, Arthur found himself reworking the ointment over the healing scar, slowing and gentling his touch as he smoothed his fingers over Merlin’s sensitive skin. When he was satisfied he had covered and worked the entire wound, he reexamined Merlin’s arms and went over other cuts, gashes, nicks, and welts again, demanding the story behind each and every one of them in turn. And, to his surprise, Merlin told them. 

A parallel life to Arthur’s own unfolded itself before Arthur with Merlin’s tales. Murder plots, magical creatures, sorcerers, and rivals alike, all trying to harm or enchant Arthur in some way and Merlin getting himself injured by placing himself between Arthur and the danger he had never even known about. Arthur was inclined to believe that Merlin was lying, fabricating pretty stories of heroics to deceive Arthur, to distract him from the evil truth of his machinations, but the stories kept coming, told so matter-of-factly and with astonishing details. And Merlin didn’t sound like he was bragging or exaggerating to make himself sound better. No, Merlin sounded tired, like he had been suffering under a burden that weighed him down much more than he wanted to admit. 

What finally convinced Arthur of Merlin’s veracity, however, were the stories Merlin couldn’t tell; the smaller nicks and cuts that Merlin had no clear memory of how he got and could only offer Arthur a nonplussed shrug. Instead of offering a story for every injury, large and small, Merlin shared what he remembered and told Arthur baldly when memory failed him and Arthur knew he was looking at a warrior, a knight who battled so often that the memories of the more inconsequential injuries merged together before being forgotten entirely in the flow of time while the memories of more important injuries or battles stood out. Arthur knew, on his own body, he had various scars he couldn’t remember the origin of and yet he never forgot how he got his first scar. What truly astounded Arthur, more than seeing the battle-hardened warrior that was his manservant, was that Merlin fought for him, not against. It was plain to see that Merlin saw himself as a shield between Arthur and magical attack. Why would a sorcerer do that? 

By this time, Merlin’s skin glistened with all the ointment Arthur had massaged into his skin but there was still the raised scar that was a perfect circle in the middle of Merlin’s chest. For the past several minutes, Arthur hadn’t even had to ask, Merlin would just start volunteering information about whichever scar Arthur was ministering to but as Arthur diligently worked on Merlin’s chest, Merlin stayed silent. 

“Tell me,” Arthur commanded. The more Merlin had talked, the more Arthur realized there were whole swathes of events in his own history and life, actions people took for and around him, that he had been completely in the dark about. He thought he had known who and what he was, all his past experiences informing him of that and now, in one conversation, Merlin had revealed a whole other side to Arthur’s life, a second, shadow life that nevertheless impacted him directly and he was left none the wiser. Anger built up within him again as, once again, Merlin was denying Arthur the truth of his own life. 

“I deserve to know!” Arthur shouted, his world upending as he realized he had been saved time and again by a magic user who had never said a single word of his feats. 

Merlin flinched at Arthur’s shout but still remained obstinately silent. Why, after all he had already revealed, would Merlin be so reluctant to talk about this injury? Arthur narrowed his eyes and spat out, “What did you do, Merlin? What did you do to deserve this?” Merlin’s eyes widened and his breath whooshed out of him like he had been punched in the gut but Arthur didn’t care. This was it. This was the proof that Merlin was a lying, deceitful sorcerer who used his power to harm others, innocents. 

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Merlin cried out, “I just, I don’t like thinking about it,” Merlin said before thunking his head down, like it was suddenly too heavy to hold up, his whole body collapsing so that he rolled from his side onto his back, producing a pained hiss as Merlin had forgotten about the healing skin plastered along his back as well as his front. 

As Merlin once again rearranged himself, Arthur asked quietly, “Does it have to do with me?” Every other scar had been and Arthur felt odd to think that Merlin had never gotten a single scar until coming to Camelot and meeting Arthur. 

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and gave a little nod at Arthur’s question. 

“Then I need to know,” Arthur said. 

“I got it fighting Nimueh,” Merlin rushed out, “My back is in a lot of pain, do you think—” Merlin tried to distract him, as if Arthur would accept that as his only explanation. 

“And who is Nimueh?” Arthur asked with a harsh bark. He would get the full truth and Arthur saw the moment Merlin realized that fact and acquiesced. With a forlorn sigh, Merlin began, “Nimueh was a High Priestess of the Old Religion and she used to be a friend of your father’s.” Arthur scoffed at that, “My father would never be friends with a sorceress.” 

“Before the Purge, he was,” Merlin said simply, taking Arthur aback. Arthur had never really thought about the fact that there was a time before the Purge, a time when his father was young and learning his role as ruler, just like Arthur was. 

“After,” Merlin continued and Arthur abandoned that unsettling train of thought to focus on Merlin’s words, “she was his greatest enemy. She knew the best way to destroy him was through you. Remember the Afanc and the wraith? They were sent by Nimueh.” Merlin paused to draw a fortifying breath and a thought crossed Arthur’s mind, a crazy one, but it felt right. 

“And the poisoned chalice?” Arthur asked, the image of a brunette woman popping into his head, the words “You are not destined to die by my hand” slowly reaching him through the fog of memory. “That was Nimueh, too?” 

“Yes,” Merlin replied tightly, “She wanted me out of her way because I kept foiling her plans.” 

As Merlin spoke, more of that long-forgotten memory came to the surface of Arthur’s consciousness and he realized why that orb of light had looked so familiar. 

“You conjured that orb!” Arthur shouted, “You were the one who led me out of that pit.” A bark of delight escaped Arthur as he remembered how he had driven himself mad for days after that orb appeared, trying to figure out what it could have signified. 

“I don’t remember that,” Merlin said, “I was too lost in the fever, but Gaius told me I was calling out your name when an orb appeared in my hand. I didn’t know I’d sent one to you, too.” Arthur took a moment of perverse satisfaction that there were things that had happened between them that Merlin had been in the dark about, just as Arthur had been about all of this, but then the significance of what Merlin had just revealed hit him. 

“You can use your magic without conscious choice?” Arthur asked, stunned. 

“It’s a part of me,” Merlin said simply and Arthur was quiet for a moment, contemplating that before he said, “Even though I didn’t know it was you, I trusted that orb. I think that might’ve been the first time I ever trusted magic.” 

A heavy silence held them in place, pregnant with possibility. Arthur was the one to break it, returning his eyes to Merlin’s bizarrely shaped scar. 

“So Nimueh kept trying to kill me,” Arthur prompted and he saw Merlin nod out of the corner of his eye, taking an audible swallow before continuing his story. 

“Yes, she kept trying and trying to hurt your father through you but I was always there to stop her. Always. But then,” Merlin’s breath was starting to quicken and Arthur felt foreboding rise within him. Arthur was not going to like where this story was headed and it definitely had nothing to do with revealing Merlin’s ulterior motives. 

“But then,” Merlin repeated, his voice hitching as he tried to even out his breaths, “she finally got what she wanted,” Merlin said and Arthur was unnerved to hear that Merlin was close to tears. “The Questing Beast got you and you were going to die.” A tear did escape Merlin then, though he was quick to wipe it away. Distantly, Arthur remembered telling Merlin “No man is worth your tears” and yet here Merlin was, a sorcerer, crying over the thought of Arthur’s death. 

“I couldn’t let you die, so I went to Nimueh with a trade: my life for yours.” 

“What?!” Arthur shouted, leaning in and placing his hand over Merlin’s heart, as if to reassure himself that it was still beating. Neither of them really paid attention to that, though, as they bore their gazes into each other’s, not even blinking as Merlin said, “You were destined to be the greatest king ever known and it was the only way to save you. I had to do it.” 

“Had to,” Arthur repeated, feeling his already pulverized heart shatter into a million pieces. “Because I’m going to be king.” And just like that, another aspect of his and Merlin’s relationship that Arthur so treasured evaporated like smoke. He truly had been alone. Though Merlin might not address him properly unless he was angry, he had just admitted that, just like everyone else, he only acted for the crown, not the man. Arthur had thought he had found a companion, someone who he could shed the mask of “royal” around and who he could be himself with, someone who saw _him_ and could love the man behind the rank. Arthur had been so blind. 

“We’re both still here,” Arthur pointed out dully and Merlin gave a little nod before explaining, “Nimueh lied to me. Or, maybe, she just didn’t have the power to pick whose life gets traded, but the magic came for my mother, not me.” 

“Hunith?” Arthur asked in surprise, remembering kind eyes and a steely resolve. 

“Yeah.” And now Merlin was crying, letting the tears flow unchecked, “I couldn’t let her die. It was supposed to be me!” Merlin choked out and Arthur found himself saying, “I didn’t know you were so keen on dying, Merlin.” Arthur suddenly became aware of where his hand still rested, pressed over Merlin’s heart, as he felt Merlin’s body tremble. Both men looked down to where Arthur’s thumb was rubbing little circles into Merlin’s chest, over his heart, and Merlin matched his ragged breathing to Arthur’s soothing strokes. 

“I was so scared, Arthur,” Merlin confessed, saying Arthur’s name for the first time and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that it sounded exactly the same as all the other times Merlin had said it, years of “Arthurs” building up into an emotion that Arthur felt and Merlin didn’t. And yet, Arthur couldn’t stop himself from yearning. 

“I didn’t want to die,” Merlin continued, “but I couldn’t let you die, or Mum die, or Gaius.” Where Gaius came in, Arthur didn’t know, but he was more concerned with the fact that Merlin hadn’t succeeded in getting his breath under control and he wasn’t meeting Arthur’s eyes anymore. “I went back to her expecting to die but we fought instead.” Merlin took in a very shaky breath before finishing, “And I won.” 

Merlin was still shaking minutely but Arthur could feel it through his hand, which he still hadn’t lifted off Merlin’s thin, but strong, chest. The Questing Beast had been years ago but Merlin was still reacting to it like it had been yesterday. How much of Merlin’s care-free demeanour was just an act? Not to trick Arthur but to hide his own distress? Had he ever really met the real Merlin? 

Arthur admitted to himself that Merlin had not revealed any deep, dark plot and, very likely, no such plot would emerge because it simply wasn’t there. Arthur felt confident that Merlin was telling the truth, and he let Merlin have a moment of privacy as he looked down to scoop up more ointment from the jar beside him. 

All of the scars on Merlin’s front were now fully covered in ointment, so Arthur moved behind Merlin and, carefully, started to repeat the same procedure that he had done on Merlin’s front on his back; rubbing in healing ointment and ruminating on everything Merlin had said. Merlin struggled to regain his composure and when Arthur thought he was ready, he pressed a light finger against the puncture wound he had found at the base of Merlin’s skull and asked, “What sort of weapon causes a mark like this?” Merlin shifted a little before settling back down and replied, his voice much more under his control again, “Not a weapon. A creature: the Fomorrah. It controls the mind of its victims.” 

“You were being controlled? When?” Arthur asked. 

“After we were ambushed in the Valley of the Fallen Kings,” Merlin answered and then he steeled himself. Arthur saw the muscles of his back shift and tense as Merlin prepared himself for the next part of his story, “They sent me to kill you.” Arthur paused. Those were the words Arthur had been expecting to hear ever since the very start of this confrontation and the ones he had just convinced himself he never would. He had waited to hear that Merlin had been sent as a spy and assassin, meant to get close to Arthur and wait until the time was right to strike. Hearing those words now, in such an anguished tone, hearing that a creature had to be forced inside Merlin to control him into killing Arthur… _maybe,_ Arthur thought, a pernicious hope rising inside him that he valiantly tried to ignore, _he hadn’t totally lost his Merlin during this whole fiasco._ His loyalty to Arthur could no longer be questioned. 

“You can’t be a very competent assassin,” Arthur said, with a nonchalance he was far from feeling, trying out the feel of trusting Merlin, the sorcerer. “I’m still here.” A pause as Merlin was clearly shocked into silence by Arthur’s response and then Arthur said slowly, testing out the words as if he were trying out a foreign language he had learned in his youth but fallen out of practice with and was suddenly called upon to use again, “It makes sense you’d be just as hopeless an assassin as you are a manservant, _Mer_ lin.” 

“It’s not like I actually wanted to kill you,” Merlin sniped back and then froze. 

“Otherwise, I’d be dead?” Arthur finished, all this feeling strange and yet, familiar. Merlin was not acting like a stranger but the man Arthur had known and trusted for over three years now. He even had the same aggrieved pout on his face as Arthur teased him. At the sight of it, Arthur let out a short chortle. The chortle became a laugh and very quickly, Arthur couldn’t stop laughing, his chest heaving and his sides aching as he joked with a sorcerer about killing him and trusted that sorcerer completely and totally _not_ to. What was his life? 

Arthur’s knights were looking at him like he had grown a second head and Merlin was looking at him just as strangely over his shoulder, but Arthur didn’t care. This conversation was not going at all like he had expected it to. And, of course it wasn’t, Merlin was involved, after all. 

Still breaking out into fits of laughter, Arthur worked his way down Merlin’s back when suddenly all laughter died on his lips. On Merlin’s lower back was a large puncture wound and to rub the ointment into it properly, Arthur would have to push Merlin’s trousers down a little. Trousers that were still soaked in blood as no one had had a spare that would fit, the blood acting as a constant reminder to the one horror no one should ever have to endure. Clearly, the two injuries were related. 

“Is it alright if I move these down?” Arthur asked quietly, wanting to make sure Merlin had as much control in this as he could. 

“It’s okay,” Merlin returned, sounding a little nervous, “I know you need to, to get to the whole wound.” 

Arthur tried to be as gentle and quick as possible, not wanting to make Merlin any more uncomfortable than he already was. 

“You don’t want to know about that?” Merlin asked. 

“Only if you want to,” Arthur let out quickly, “I don’t want you to feel…obligated,” he finished lamely. That caused Merlin to raise an eyebrow since Arthur had berated Merlin into telling him about Nimueh not even ten minutes ago, but he said without hesitation, “It’s a serket sting. I was eavesdropping on Morgause and Cenred when they caught me, chained me up, and left me for the serkets.” Arthur didn’t want to ask but he also felt compelled to know and Merlin seemed willing to talk about it, so he whispered, “Is Cenred the one who…who,” he couldn’t say it and Merlin cast a questioning look towards Arthur over his shoulder, twisting his body awkwardly to get a better look at a floundering Arthur. He watched Arthur struggle for words while gesturing helplessly in the general direction of his blood-soaked trousers in confusion. As Arthur continued to sputter however, slow understanding dawned on Merlin’s face, followed quickly by horror. 

“No, Arthur!” Merlin gasped, moving forward and sitting up to grasp Arthur’s hands, despite the protests of his body, “No,” Merlin repeated emphatically, “Nothing like that has ever, no! I’ve never been,” Merlin found himself at just of a loss for words as Arthur, but he never let go of Arthur’s hands as he tried to send all he couldn’t find the words for through that small contact. Arthur seemed to need the comfort. 

Arthur let out a small sob that he quickly tried to disguise as a cough as he felt Merlin’s solid, strong hands clasped around. Relief crashed over him, sending him flying, and he brought his forehead against Merlin’s, just breathing in Merlin and accepting his comfort and reassurance. Merlin hadn’t been hurt, not in that way. Merlin was safe, in his arms, with no foul memories to taint the feel of Arthur’s own touch. Arthur was sagging, his relief was so great, but soon his former confusion once again started to swirl around his head. Arthur searched for the anger and distrust that had spurred him for the last few days but his talk with Merlin had abated it—for now, at least—and instead, he found himself asking the question he never thought he would be able to find the words for, no matter how simple they turned out to be. 

“Why do you use magic?” Arthur sounded small, even to his own ears, and Merlin gave Arthur an assessing look before releasing Arthur’s hands and returning to lying on his side with a small groan. Arthur clenched his hands, missing Merlin’s warmth around them. 

Arthur waited and watched Merlin settle himself, then shift his body, then shift it again, settling and resettling until he could delay his answer no longer and softly replied, “Because I was born with it.” 

“People aren’t born with magic,” Arthur countered automatically, “it’s a corrupting evil that people _choose._ ” Merlin was shaking his head before Arthur had even finished talking. 

“You choose how you use magic but magic itself is something you either have or you don’t.” 

They had been talking so carefully around each other, existing in a tentative truce, and Arthur didn’t want to shatter it by having a debate over the nature of magic. He wasn’t prepared for what ramifications might come out of such a conversation. 

Not acknowledging Merlin’s last statement, Arthur asked, “Have you ever tried _not_ using magic?” not liking the desperation he heard in his tone. 

“No,” Merlin said simply and honestly, and imagine that, Arthur ever thinking of a sorcerer as “honest.” Merlin was shaking his head sadly as he continued, “Not even when using my magic meant having to leave Mum and Will in Ealdor. Magic is too a part of who I am.” 

Who Merlin was. Arthur didn’t know who Merlin way anymore, no matter how desperately he had just tried to convince himself this Merlin wasn’t too different from the Merlin he knew before. He had never felt so indecisive in his life. But here he was, once again faced with the fact that he didn’t know “Merlin, the sorcerer”. And he had fallen in love with “Merlin, the hapless manservant.” Was any of that Merlin in this, apparently very powerful, sorcerer? 

Arthur turned his attention to the other ointments and salves that Merlin needed to heal as he went through their conversation over and over again in his head. While he was relieved Merlin had never been hurt in such an intimate way—beyond relieved, actually, he might even feel faint—that explanation had fit so nicely in the story he had been constructing on why Merlin used magic, a story to excuse Merlin using magic. Without that excuse, with Merlin using magic because it was a part of him, what was Arthur supposed to do? Merlin using magic went counter to everything his father had taught him. As if reading his thoughts, and God, Arthur hoped Merlin couldn’t do that, Merlin asked, “What’re you going to do? With me.” He added, as if Arthur needed clarification. 

“I don’t know,” Arthur answered truthfully, “I keep changing my mind.” At Merlin’s sudden stoic look, Arthur added, “I know I can’t turn you over to my father. I can’t see you die at the chopping block. I’m not strong enough,” Arthur admitted, hating his own weakness. Air whooshed out of Merlin at Arthur’s pronouncement and Arthur asked bitterly, “Why would you stay with me? If you thought I would kill you if I ever found out about your magic, why on earth would you stay?” 

“I have a destiny,” Merlin began but Arthur didn’t let him get any further. 

“Destiny,” Arthur scoffed, “Right.” And he started to pull away. So, that was it. Merlin saved him because he was going to be king and he stayed because destiny made him. Arthur needed to stop kidding himself, Merlin had never been his. 

“Arthur, wait,” Merlin cried, placing a hand on Arthur’s wrist, “Listen to me.” Arthur held himself stiff for a moment and then relented, settling back down on the soft ground. 

“I have a destiny,” Merlin repeated, “and its tied with yours. You’re supposed to be the greatest king that ever lived and unite the land of Albion, bringing about a golden age where magic is once again safe to practice,” Merlin said with a slightly mocking tone, as if he had heard the same thing one too many times in his life and was fed up with it, “but the thing is, Arthur,” Merlin said with a mischievous little grin, distracting Arthur from his morose thoughts that everything between him and Merlin was due to a prophecy, “I thought the dragon who told me that had the wrong Arthur for the longest time.” Merlin laughed at Arthur’s look of surprise and then laughed even harder when he recalled, “I thought you were too much of an idiot to be any great king.” Merlin’s smile slowly faded and then he was very serious. “I realized I was wrong when you saved my village, something no other royal prince would do. And I saw what kind of king you could be with the unicorn and Anhora.” Merlin’s voice had become soft and wistful as he said that, but then he cleared his throat and was back to sounding like his usual buoyant self when he said, “As a person, you’re an arrogant prat but you genuinely care about your people. After Ealdor and the labyrinth, I saw you as a king worth serving. But the thing is, Arthur,” Merlin reflected, “just because you have a destiny doesn’t mean you have to follow it.” Merlin took a deep breath and finished, “You asked why I stayed and I almost didn’t, so many times. I can’t count how many times I was tempted to leave and forget all about you, about destiny, all of it.” Arthur was taken aback by the vehemence in Merlin’s statement but he still hadn’t answered the question. 

“Why do you stay, Merlin?” 

Merlin was studiously not looking at Arthur, picking at a blade of grass by his hand and Arthur felt a flutter of hope within his chest at what Merlin might say next. 

“Love,” Merlin whispered and whatever hope Arthur had been feeling died a swift and suddenly death. Of course. Lancelot. Merlin stayed for Lancelot. 

“I must have felt it for a while, but I remember the exact moment I realized it,” Merlin said into the strained silence that followed his declaration, “it was with the Fomorrah.” 

“The thing that made you want to kill me,” Arthur said in disbelief, not wanting to hear about Merlin’s feelings but curious despite himself how this could possibly connect to Lancelot. 

“That’s not how the Fomorrah works,” Merlin said with a shake of his head, “I never _wanted_ to kill you. It _told_ me to kill you. When the Fomorrah is inside your head,” Merlin explained, “it hisses. It-it drives out all rational thought with a barrage of hissing. Loud, insistent. Constant,” Merlin said and Arthur wondered if he only imagined Merlin’s “s”es sounding longer, more sibilant, than usual as he spoke, almost as if he were hissing himself at the mere memory. 

“The Fomorrah puts you into a state where you can only think about their command,” Merlin continued, “but I kept remembering your hug. It couldn’t drive that memory away. I kept replaying it in my head, over and over. I kept seeing how happy and relieved you were when you saw me, how warm and solid you felt around me.” Merlin looked down, looking embarrassed, and he was back to assaulting the grass under his hand. Arthur gave a little cough as, once again, a conversation with Merlin was not going at all how he had expected it to. 

Finally, Merlin continued, “I just kept thinking, ‘I always want to see you that happy’ and the Fomorrah couldn’t take that away and I knew it had nothing to do with you supposedly being a great king but because,” Merlin paused, swallowed and finished, “Because prophecy and destiny is all focused on some unknown future and all I wanted was to enjoy the present with you. That’s when I knew I loved you.” 

Huh. Merlin loved him. Not Lancelot. Merlin loved…huh. Merlin had just admitted to… loving him. Merlin loved him. Merlin, huh, Merlin said he loved him and Merlin was still talking. He should…probably listen. 

“…and then, about two weeks later, you forced me on one of your stupid hunting trips but you kept letting the animals go. You weren’t even trying. And you kept finding excuses to touch me, like ruffling my hair. And we wound up eating a lunch the kitchen prepared. That’s when I knew that you loved me too,” Merlin said with a defiant chin raise, meeting Arthur’s eyes as if daring Arthur to contradict him. Arthur didn’t. He remembered that hunting trip. He had wanted to see if he could trick Merlin into letting him court him without making it an actual request from a master to a servant. He hadn’t tried again, though, as he had realized Merlin still had no real choice in the matter. Turns out, you can’t trick a sorcerer, anyway. 

“You never said anything!” Arthur exploded, “You love me and you never say a word about it?! About any of this!” He hadn’t wanted it to, but he knew his voice betrayed all the hurt, frustration, and doubt that he had been bottling within himself since Merlin had revealed his magic. Merlin sounded just as devastated when he shouted back, “I couldn’t! Not knowing that I was hiding such an important part of who I am. I couldn’t be honest with you about my feelings without being honest about my magic and I knew you weren’t ready to hear about that.” 

This was all becoming too much. They had gotten so engrossed in the secrets Merlin had revealed that they had forgotten about the salves and ointments Arthur was supposed to be applying and Arthur returned his attention to those as silence once again stretched between them. Finally, when Arthur had rolled up Merlin’s trouser legs and was almost done, he whispered, “I did love you.” Merlin had known, there was no use denying it now. and Arthur felt a lot calmer now, knowing he hadn’t been totally mistaken and they had shared that connection this whole time. He almost wanted to smile to know he hadn’t been alone but too much had been revealed, his life was not what he had thought it was and now he couldn’t even be certain who he was, never mind how he felt. “But I don’t think I know who you are anymore,” Arthur admitted sadly, looking to Merlin who had that stupidly tragic look on his face, the one that always made Arthur want to punch him on the arm to cheer him up just so he could hear Merlin ridicule the thickness of knights and forget about whatever was worrying him—and now, Arthur was realizing, perhaps he should have just asked Merlin what was wrong instead. It seemed Merlin bottled up quite a lot of things inside. 

“I don’t know who I fell in love with,” Arthur whispered, putting the final lid on the last jar. 

Merlin didn’t say anything; he just looked accepting. Seeing that, Arthur knew he had to leave. They had both opened themselves up and he was left feeling raw. While he felt an overwhelming elation that he had been wrong, that Merlin did love him, did see him, and stayed for Arthur, no one else, that Merlin was _his_ , that emotion was tempered by just how profoundly lost he felt by Merlin’s more magical revelations. He may have gotten Merlin back, and he still wasn’t certain how much of the old Merlin remained in this new one, but he felt like he had lost himself in the process and he just wanted to make a strategic retreat to lick his wounds and not have to think about all that Merlin had said. And what it meant that Arthur believed him. A sorcerer. And this time, the word didn’t echo in Arthur’s head. 

Arthur intended to just return to his log or maybe go back to his tree and hack some more but he saw Gwaine beckon him over to where all the knights were congregated. Arthur groaned. He really didn’t want to go over there. He felt completely drained after talking with Merlin, he wasn’t in the mood for more talking, but he knew he had neglected his men in the past few days and that he needed to rectify that. So, he changed direction and went over to join the knights. 

At his approach, Lancelot appeared to be about to depart, but Gwaine yanked him back down and didn’t waste any time once Arthur was amongst them to turn to Lancelot and say harshly, “Spill.” Arthur hadn’t been expecting Gwaine’s hostility towards Lancelot and, judging by the semi-hostile looks heading in Lancelot’s direction, Arthur wasn’t the only one grappling with the fact that Lancelot had known something so fundamental about Merlin that no one else had even had an inkling about. 

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Lancelot said reasonably, not at all put off by Gwaine’s tone. 

“But how did you even know?” Leon asked in a more level-headed tone than Gwaine had or Arthur thought he could have managed himself. Arthur tried not to show how invested he was in Lancelot’s answer. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to bring the topic up with Merlin, not ready to hear what Merlin might say, but it seemed he was destined to find out one way or the other what Lancelot and Merlin were to each other. Merlin said he loved Arthur and Arthur believed him. However, that didn’t change the fact that Merlin had showed more trust in Lancelot than he had in Arthur. Arthur waited with bated breath to find out how that had happened. 

And then, Lancelot started talking. Arthur had not even realized that the cold block of ice that had formed around his heart, paralyzing it with fear and despair, had started melting with his conversation with Merlin. He hadn’t realized he was starting to feel like a man coming alive again until the last remaining chill that had been coursing through his veins since Lancelot had revealed that he knew Merlin so much more than Arthur himself, was dispelled completely as Lancelot told a story of a charging griffin and a suddenly glowing lance. 

Merlin hadn’t chosen to tell Lancelot. Giddy relief flooded through Arthur and he almost laughed. The conversation continued without him but Arthur didn’t care because Merlin hadn’t confided in Lancelot, hadn’t given him a trust that he had withheld from Arthur. Lancelot had just had the luck to catch Merlin using magic and Merlin hadn’t been able to lie and wiggle out of it. Arthur felt laughter still threatening to burst out of him, so at odds with the exhaustion he had been feeling not even moments before. This whole damned experience was wreaking havoc on his emotions, dragging him from one extreme to the other and he returned his focus to the conversation happening around him in an attempt to bring himself back under control. 

As the night progressed—and Gwaine brought out a bottle of Spark’s ale that he had been hoarding—they became more boisterous and Arthur finally did get to laugh. He felt invigorated and, though it may have just been the alcohol, hopeful. Even after Lancelot left to return to Merlin, Arthur felt that they were going to get through this, once again feeling a moment of clarity, despite the wooziness than came with the ale. Merlin loved him. Merlin trusted him. And despite everything that had shifted and changed, from Merlin’s power to the truth of Arthur’s life, that one thing had stayed constant. Arthur may not know how he would feel from one second to the next, adrift in a sea of roiling, contradictory emotions, but that that one fact, Merlin’s love, had carried forward and stayed true into this scarily momentous new world Arthur found himself in, felt like an anchor that would see Arthur through it all. They were rebuilding, not just him and Merlin, but all of his knights, and, in the warm sloppiness of inebriation, Arthur thought that they were all going to be family once again. Not only that, they may even come out of this even stronger than they were before.


	11. Chapter 11

After that first day, a new routine was quickly established. They made their slow progress back towards Camelot, Lancelot supporting Merlin’s weight as his body slowly recovered from Ts’oring’s attack. Arthur would then be the one to tend to Merlin’s still healing skin, watching as the pink of new scar tissue faded each day under his hands to a stark white. 

Some sense of balance had been reestablished between Merlin and Arthur, so that they could speak more freely between themselves without feeling like they had to tip toe around each other, afraid the wrong word would send the other over the edge. Because of this new sense of equilibrium, Arthur felt free to spend one whole night trying to convince Merlin to stop using magic. 

At first, Merlin had curled up, as if shriveling in on himself at Arthur’s perceived censure. However, his answers to Arthur’s prodding, though tinged with sadness and regret, never faltered in their adamance that magic was as crucial to him as breathing. And as Arthur continued, coming at the problem from different angles, trying to find the right approach to break through Merlin’s defenses and find the one bit of logic that would pierce through some chink in Merlin’s dedication to magic and bring Merlin to Arthur’s point of view, Merlin grew more confident in his responses; sensing that Arthur was not condemning Merlin for his magic but instead, trying to figure out what magic meant to him. 

“But look at what magic has done to you,” Arthur persisted, sweeping his hand in a grand gesture, taking in Merlin’s scarred body. Merlin did as Arthur instructed and glanced down at himself before giving a nonchalant shrug. 

“I don’t think I have any more scars than you do from swords, flails, and any other number of pointy objects you like to swing about,” Merlin said evenly. 

“But they hurt you with it, Merlin,” Arthur said, “Everything you told me, it’s all about destruction.” Arthur thought he had made a very good point and wasn’t prepared for the sweet smile that slowly crossed Merlin’s face. 

“That’s because you only asked about my scars,” Merlin said, smile still firmly in place, “It’s unfortunate that only the negative aspects of magic left their mark when the good that has come from it has far exceeded the bad. It just doesn’t leave the same kind of trace.” 

Then Merlin treated Arthur with stories of pranks with Will, saving Gaius, speeding up his chores— “That’s cheating, Merlin!”—easing the pain in his mother’s joints, working with a young sorcerer named Gilly, and learning from the druids. Merlin’s smile grew more and more radiant as he shared story after story of how his magic made him feel—in turns safe, useful, strong and free. Arthur became transfixed by the clear joy with which Merlin spoke of his magic and he almost found himself wishing he could feel the same things Merlin was describing. Every other sorcerer who had been caught spoke with only anger and hate. Yet Merlin actually laughed when he told Arthur of the time he covered his entire room with sparkling rainbows because he was tired of seeing nothing but dull, stone grey and he had wanted to bring some color into his life. 

“I wish I could’ve seen that,” Arthur laughed with Merlin and then stopped, realizing what he had just said but unable to regret it. 

Another night, the quiet truce they had been working under shattered and they shouted and raged at each other. All the hurt and vitriol Arthur had been suffering under, whether those emotions had been prompted by reality or not, burst forth and he unleashed it on Merlin, who gave it right back in turn. It seemed Merlin had been suffering in his own concoction of guilt at lying and fear of being caught, stoppering it up as the terror and doubt built and built and finally, as Arthur yelled at him, he was allowed to release all that pressure back onto Arthur. 

They hollered and fought and an analytical part of Arthur stayed above it all to see what Merlin would do—now that his secret was out, would Merlin use his magic against Arthur? 

Arthur tried to find the line that would cause Merlin to snap, show his true colors, and send magic hurtling towards Arthur, but it never happened. No matter how incensed Merlin became, he never attacked Arthur with more than words and Arthur had to admit that Merlin had never shown Arthur anything but his true colors all along. 

One night, when they were still a day or two from Camelot, they finally had the debate about the nature of magic. At the end of it, Arthur had cried and he let Merlin see. Merlin, in turn, had wrapped Arthur in his arms and just held him, rocking him slightly in his strong embrace. 

Held within those lithe arms, Arthur felt like he had come home and that, even though his life was in turmoil, he was not without the security of someone who loved him. 

Merlin wasn’t the only one changing Arthur’s opinions, as the last part of their new daily routine had Arthur joining his knights, who always set themselves up a bit separate from Merlin to give Arthur and Merlin some privacy, and for them to have their own discussions. Ts’oring had forced into the open that, while they loved and relied on each other as a band of knights, they could do more to know each other on a more personal level. It was through these talks that Arthur realized his people weren’t as scared of magic as he had been led to believe. He learned that, while his knights followed him and trusted him implicitly, they didn’t always agree with how magic and its users were treated. Arthur had been astonished. 

So, the days went by with travel and healing, both visible and invisible wounds. And no matter how he and Arthur argued, Arthur’s hands never lost their gentleness upon Merlin’s sensitive skin, massaging and rubbing healing—magical, Arthur learned—remedies into Merlin’s skin, letting the magic seep down and fix the damage Ts’oring had wrought internally as well as externally. 

Arthur took care of Merlin, was diligent and thorough in his task, watching with pride as Merlin lost his pallor and the pain eased from his features. It was because of Arthur that, as he stood at the crest of a hill, Camelot stretching before him, Merlin was able to walk up beside him under his own power, goofy smile in place and undimmed by any trace of pain. 

“I’ve been meaning to thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said conversationally as the rest of the knights were already halfway down the hill, making their way towards the lower town, “for saving my life and protecting my people.” Merlin came to a stop by Arthur’s side, the sleeve of one of Arthur’s spare shirts brushing up against Arthur’s arm, bringing with it the soothing warmth of Merlin himself. 

“I’m listening,” Merlin said, following Arthur’s gaze to the town and the castle before them. 

“I’ve just said it,” Arthur said, a slight smile curling his lips. 

“Odd,” Merlin replied, “I didn’t hear the words.” Arthur sent a pitying look towards Merlin at that and said, “That’s quite unfortunate, _Mer_ lin. It must be quite the curse to have ears like those _and_ bad hearing.” The words came slow, the tone not as teasing as he was accustomed, but he was trying. Merlin had hid something fundamental about himself, something that informed his entire being and impacted Arthur’s life quite significantly, but Arthur had hope that this new Merlin who stood, revealed, beside him was not so dissimilar to the one he had known and loved before. They would just have to learn each other again. Something that, this time, they could do together. 

“Thank you,” Arthur said seriously, moving closer and meeting Merlin’s eyes. 

“You’re welcome,” Merlin returned just as seriously. There was one more question Arthur had, one more uncertainty that Arthur needed alleviated before they left the serenity of the forest and returned to the reality of the castle. 

“So,” Arthur started casually, “You’re a powerful sor—warlock,” he corrected at Merlin’s stare, “who has vanquished countless foes and who would never let themselves be pushed around if they didn’t want to be.” Arthur waited to see Merlin’s questioning nod, wondering where Arthur was going with this, before he continued, “So, if a certain royal prince were to ask you to kiss him and you didn’t want to, you could,” Arthur didn’t get to finish that thought as Merlin let out a laugh and took a step towards Arthur. Holding back his own smile behind a stern look, Arthur took a step back and asked, “What’re you doing?” Merlin looked confused and stammered, “I thought—you—I thought we—I thought you were asking me to kiss you?” 

“We do need to check your hearing, _Mer_ lin. I never said that.” 

“Oh, right. No, right,” Merlin was nodding so much, it looked like his head was trying to make a break for it from his body. “Course.” 

Arthur finally let his smile loose and took a deliberate step towards Merlin, effectively halting the compulsive bobbing as Merlin met Arthur’s smiling eyes. No matter what had changed between them, no matter what truths had been brought to light, Merlin was still _his_ adorable idiot. 

Leaning close, Arthur stopped centimetres away from Merlin’s lips, his breath ghosting against Merlin’s slightly parted mouth. Arthur held himself unearthly still, waiting for Merlin’s response, waiting to be pushed away, but Merlin simply fluttered his eyes closed and a pink tongue shot out to wet his lips and Arthur was lost. He surged forward, not only with mouth and tongue, but burying his hands in Merlin’s wild hair, angling his head and directing the kiss as he felt Merlin’s own hands come up to caress against his neck. 

The kiss stretched on forever, Arthur exploring Merlin’s mouth and learning the taste and feel of him. Merlin returned the kiss just as boldly, just as eagerly, and they were both panting for breath by the time they released each other, Arthur staggering a little as years of fantasies couldn’t have prepared him for the reality of finally holding Merlin in his arms. And as they both descended down the hill towards home, Arthur wasn’t thinking about magic or traitors, justice or jealousy, or about what he thought his life had meant and what actually had happened around him. No, he was strategizing on how to get Merlin into his arms again. This called for chicken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed this as much as I did writing it!!! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated :D 
> 
> And a final thank you to afreezingnote for their amazing prompt, without which I would not have been able to write this.


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